Too Hot Four Hula: 4 (The Tiki Goddess Mystery Series) (28 page)

“He needs money. He’s not working at the restaurant right now. Besides, that swap meet is huge. He could be wearing a disguise, hiding in plain sight.”

“I hope he hasn’t sold Uncle Louie’s Booze Bible.” Pat glanced across the street. The Maidens were hanging out of the van windows waving and yelling for them to hurry.

“We’d better go. There’s gonna be an insurrection if we don’t get some dim sum.”

“And den some.”

39

PAT DUMPED THEM out in front of Mei Sum Dim Sum a block from the grocery. Kiki instructed them to order take-out because they had to get to the swap meet before it closed, and they still had to tackle Sunday afternoon traffic. The restaurant was clean but crowded, and surly was the only word that aptly described the squadron of waitresses.

Precious turned out to be a dim sum expert. Kiki was relived. Pat didn’t know a dim from a sum, and after four days, Kiki was exhausted from wrangling the Maidens 24/7. She was in no mood to educate them on the finer points of ordering the bite-sized dumplings.

Since they’d all had lunch, they settled on tasting the house specialty—deep fried garlic eggplant—and two desserts, the custard tarts and sweet coconut balls.

“Sweet coconut balls” quickly replaced “dim sum and den some” as the phrase of the day.

Armed with Styrofoam take-out boxes of stinky garlic eggplant and sweets, the Maidens piled back into the van and headed for the swap meet in the parking lot of Aloha Stadium, a short walk from the USS
Arizona
Memorial at Pearl Harbor.

“Do we have time to go to the Memorial?” Lillian asked around a mouthful of custard tart. “I’ve never seen it.”

“This from the woman who didn’t want to see the site of an internment camp,” Trish said.

“No time,” Kiki said. “Have MyBob take you sometime.”

When they reached the stadium, Lillian said, “It’s too hot to wander around this parking lot.” She had her nose pressed to the side window. “It looks like the asphalt is melting. I can’t take all this sun. It will ruin the color of my hair.” She patted her pink bouffant.

“So buy a hat,” Kiki told her. She turned around to address them all. “Make sure your cell phones are on. I want you to spread out in twos. Flora and Precious. Lillian and Trish. Big Estelle and Pat. We don’t have much time before this thing closes down. Go different directions and check out all the booths. I think Bautista, if he’s here, will be in a booth that sells secondhand Hawaiiana. Collectibles, old newspapers, things like that. Any antique thing that says Hawaii. Old plates. Whatever. If you find a booth like that, do not approach. I repeat, do not approach. Call me, and I’ll hightail it to wherever you are. I’ll alert Pat, and she’ll call all of you. Got it?”

“Got it!” They shouted.

“We gotta get outta this van,” Pat said. “It smells like the inside of a rancid garlic clove. I can’t breathe.”

“It costs a dollar to get in the gate,” Kiki said. “Get out your money and let’s go. We’ve only got forty-five minutes.”

“This’ll be a good way to get your exercise.” Pat made sure they were all out and then pressed the auto lock.

“Who exercises?” Flora checked to see how much “special” water she had left.

They each paid their dollar and went through the entry gate.

“Sweet coconut balls!” Pat hollered. “It’s hotter’n Hades out here. I think Lil’s right. The asphalt is meltin’ my shoes.”

“I’m heading for a hat stand.” Lillian charged off with Trish at her side. They looked right and left, checking out the various booths as they flew past. The swap meet consisted of a sea of silver awnings stretched over aluminum frames. Folding tables lined up beneath were loaded with every kind of tourist trinket imaginable, not to mention some local favorites.

Kiki hustled along as fast as she could without getting distracted by straw bags lined with Hawaiian print fabrics and knock off Prada backpacks. She finally had to stop for five minutes at a stand that sold hula implements. She chatted up the seller, asked about used stuff and Hawaiiana, found out that kind of thing was mostly sold early Sunday mornings. He said if she went around the circle to the far side she might get lucky.

It wasn’t long before she noticed the exact same items were for sale every half a dozen booths or so. It was like being trapped in a recurring nightmare. Huge beach towels with colorful flowers, dolphins, and scenic wonders of Hawaii flapped in the trade wind breeze that gave little relief from the heat waves emanating from the asphalt lot.

She paused to catch her breath in the shade of one booth and watched a tourist with huge feet let a vendor try to shove a toe ring onto her little toe. The vendor was nothing if not determined. Kiki left when the tourist started screaming.

Passing a bread booth, she was tempted to stop again when her cell rang. It was Pat.

“I found a booth that sells old stuff. Used stuff. Looks like garage sale stuff, not the souvenir crap.”

“Where are you?” Kiki tried to see around the sea of awnings but found herself trapped in the maze of aisles.

“Head away from the sun, that’s all I can tell ya. Wait a minute . . .” Pat mumbled to someone. “Booth 1211. Ask somebody which way.”

“Don’t tip off Bautista if you see him.”

“No worries. I’m not right in front of it.”

“Call the others.” Kiki was already on the move.

“Roger that. Then I’m gonna get me some wrinkle cream while I’m waitin’ for ya’ll.”

“Wrinkle cream?”

Pat didn’t respond. She’d already ended the call. Kiki checked the time on her phone. They had a little under twenty minutes until closing.

She rounded a corner and found an intersection, then crossed over to another aisle where the numbers were getting closer to 1211. She saw Flora, Pat, and Big Estelle in front of a dried fruit booth. Big Estelle had a bag of shrimp chips in her hands. Precious was in the aisle leaning against a carved wooden tiki as tall as she was. Flora dipped a plastic spoon into a jar of
liliko’i
butter spread and ate it.

“How are you going to get that thing to the van?” Kiki asked Precious.

“Roll it. I’ve rolled it down every aisle so far.”

Kiki said, “Estelle, pay for those chips pronto. Where is Lillian?”

“There they are.” Pat pointed down the row of stalls. Her face was coated in some kind of oil.

Kiki asked, “What have you done?”

Pat showed her a small plastic bag with a logo of some kind on it. “I bought me some
kukui
nut oil. It takes out all your wrinkles overnight.”

“You look like a greased pig at a county fair,” Kiki said.

“You’ll be wantin’ to borrow it tomorrow when my face is smoother than a baby’s butt.”

Trish and Lillian came panting up to join them. Trish hadn’t purchased anything. One look at Lillian’s hat, and the rest of them were goggle-eyed. Flora stuffed another spoonful of
liliko’i
butter in her mouth.

“What’s with the hat, Lil?” Pat asked.

“What’s with that oil on your face? If it’s sunblock I need some.” Trish shifted her camera strap.

Lillian raised a hand to her wide straw hat brim. “What’s wrong with it? I thought the colors were very tropical, and I love these big leaves.”

Kiki closed her eyes and counted to ten. The hatband was knitted green, yellow, and red yarn with a spray of green plastic leaves attached to one side.

“For one thing, those are Rasta colors, Lil,” Big Estelle said gently.

“Rasta?”

“Rastafarian. As in Bob Marley. As in Jamaica and reggae music.”

“As in marijuana,” Precious said.

“As in, those are plastic pot leaves stuck up there on your hat, Lillian,” Pat said.

Lillian slapped her hands on her cheeks. Her mouth formed a huge O.

“Am I going to be arrested?” She was poised to run.

Kiki grabbed her by the shoulders. “
Plastic
pot leaves, Lil.
Plastic
. Get a grip on yourself.”

“MyBob will have a fit if I take this home,” Lil cried.

“MyBob don’t have to know,” Big Estelle said. “It’s keeping the sun off your face. When we get back to the hotel you can give it to Mother. She’ll love it. Maybe it’ll inspire her give up rap and get into reggae.”

“Ten minutes to closing,” Pat announced. “If we’re gonna catch that Bautista guy we’d better get goin’. Kiki, what do you wanna do?”

While Lillian continued to sniffle, glancing around to see if anyone was staring—no one was—Kiki gave orders.

“Let’s saunter back down to that booth with the Hawaiiana Collectibles sign. I didn’t see Bautista when I walked by, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there. Pat, find something to ask the vendor about, and I’ll scope out the back of the booth. Precious, roll your tiki down there and wait for us in the middle of the aisle. Lillian, stop crying and have your cell phone out. If we see him, you’ll call 911, but you have to be sneaky about it. Trish, have your camera ready. I want this whole take down photographed. Big Estelle and Flora, if he makes a run for it, you two grab him.” Kiki was pretty certain their combined weight was well over five hundred pounds. If they didn’t want Bautista to go anywhere, then he wasn’t going.

“Let’s go. Look casual, don’t be nervous,” Kiki advised.

They had walked about two yards when a couple of teenage gals walked up to Kiki. One of them said, “Is it really you? Are you those old hula ladies from Kauai?”

Kiki kept walking, but Lillian stopped. “
We’re
the Hula Maidens.”

“You know, you folks can’t really dance,” the other girl said with the kind of snotty smirk only a teenager can pull off. “In fact, you’re the worst hula dancers I ever saw.”

Lillian gasped. Kiki stopped in her tracks, turned around, and marched up to the girls.

“Maybe we’re a little
challenged
when it comes to hula, but at least
we
know enough to respect
kupuna.
”

“’Cause you are
kupuna
,” the first girl said. “Not many people older than you alive.”

“Six minutes,” Pat said.

Kiki envied the girls’ long, silky dark hair, their smooth, coffee-colored skin, and lovely features. She tried to remember she was a smart-mouthed kid herself once. Who was she kidding? She prided herself on being a smart-mouthed old lady.

Kiki leaned closer to the teenagers and lowered your voice. Her smile never dimmed.

“Remember this moment someday when
you’re
old, ’cause if you’re lucky, you’ll get old one day, too.” She shoved past the two girls, and the Maidens trailed after her toward the antique booth with Precious rolling the tiki down the aisle behind them.

Pat perused the piles of old show posters and Hawaiian album covers. She picked up an old 33LP of Elvis’
Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite
and waved it at the vendor, a wiry Filipino man in his forties.

“How much for this, bra?” she asked. “It’s says fifty bucks, but you can do better, yeah?”

The man took the LP from her, turned it over, turned it back, and stared at it.

“Fifty bucks. No can do better.”

“You kiddin’ me?”

While Pat bartered and got louder with every question, Kiki wandered around inside the booth. She stopped at an assorted pile of old hotel china with a banana leaf pattern. She picked up a plate and pretended to inspect it while she took in the van parked behind the booth. The sliding door was open. Someone was seated inside, but all she could see was a pair of Nike tennis shoes and two skinny legs.

Pat kept up the banter with the vendor. Big Estelle and Flora milled around, filling up the inside of the booth. Trish was casually moving around the exterior edges snapping photos while Lillian nervously paced the aisle, and Precious signed autographs and posed for pictures next to her tiki.

Kiki leaned over the table and called out to whoever was in the van.

“You hoo! Hooeee! I need to know about this plate,” she yelled.

The feet inside the shoes moved. The vendor working with Pat glanced over his shoulder.

“One minute,” he said. “Wait one minute.”

“It’s almost time to close,” Kiki said. “This matches a bunch of plates I inherited, and I’d give anything to have it.
Anything
.” She stepped around the table and got close enough to stick her head around the edge of the van door. “Can you
please
help me?”

There was a man sitting inside the van. The shadowy interior hid his face from view until he hunched over and walked toward the opening.

“I can help you.” He scanned the scene before he stepped out.

He was about Kiki’s height and weight with curly dark hair sticking out from under a baseball cap, huge sunglasses, and a couple days growth of moustache. The moustache didn’t disguise him much. It was Damian Bautista.

Bingo!

She shoved the dinner plate at him. “This is just what I was looking for, but I can’t make out the price on the sticker.”

He glanced around furtively, uncomfortable out in the open. When he lifted the plate to study the sticker, Kiki waved to Lillian, put her hand up to her cheek and mimed talking on the phone. The faux pot leaves on Lillian’s hat bobbed as she nodded in understanding and punched in 911 on her cell.

Shoppers were filing down the aisle toward the exit, sauntering mostly, stopping to purchase last minute impulse buys. Lillian bounced around, nervously talking on the phone and glancing back at Kiki.

Right on cue, Pat started yelling at the vendor.

“That’s insane. I ain’t paying fifty bucks for that album. I seen them on eBay for thirty.”

“Then go buy it on eBay!” the vendor shouted back. “I gotta pack up. You go now.”

When he turned around and saw Bautista standing in the middle of the booth, his eyes bugged out.

“What are you doing, man? Are you nuts?” the vendor said.

Kiki played innocent. “He’s being so kind. He’s helping me read the price on this label.”

“I’ll handle this. You get back in the van.” The vendor grabbed the plate and motioned to Bautista. Bautista started to turn away.