Livin' Lahaina Loca Page 12

  She pecked me on both cheeks and I returned it. Then I went out to my car and slid the cake box onto the backseat. I still couldn’t look at that seat without seeing the ghost of Crystal’s hair draped across it. Now that the ransom note had surfaced, looking at it freaked me out even more.

  The clock in my car said twelve-thirty, which meant the work day had begun on the West Coast. I called Trish’s work number and she picked up.

  “Hey! Thanks for calling me back,” she said. “Guess what? I’m leaving for Hawaii tonight. I talked my boss into letting me go to this swanky conference in Honolulu. Can we meet sometime to talk about my wedding?”

  “Uh, well, Honolulu is on the island of O’ahu, not Maui. Any chance you could fly over here? I could show you around and we could start sketching out ideas.” I prayed she’d say yes; I wasn’t in the mood for another quick trip to Honolulu.

  “I thought Hawaii was a state.”

  “It is.”

  “But isn’t it, like, connected?”

  “No, it’s a group of islands. There are seven major islands and a bunch of tiny islands. The only way to easily get from one island to the other is by plane.” I couldn’t believe I had to give her a geography lesson. This is how Canadians must feel.

  “How long does it take to get to Maui from Honolulu?”

  “It’s a short flight, less than an hour total. And planes leave Honolulu all the time. It’s kind of like taking a bus. You just buy a ticket and get on the next available flight. By the way, where do you live on the West Coast?”

  “I’m in Portland. The Oregon Portland, not the one in Maine,” she said. I resisted telling her I could’ve figured that out since Maine was definitely not West Coast and, unlike her, I’d managed to stay awake in school during social studies class. Instead, I said, “Great. When you arrive, give me a call and we’ll set up a time. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

  We signed off and I checked the clock on my dash. Not quite one o’clock. I still had Keith’s money in my bag and I needed to get to the bank. But the little chunk of cinnamon bread I’d had at Keahou’s had whetted my appetite. I turned at Hali’imaile Road and headed for home.

  I walked in the back door and Steve met me in the kitchen.

  “You know, you really ought to hire a secretary,” he said, handing over four scraps of paper with scribbled phone numbers. I quickly scanned the messages—none were from Keith.

  “But why would I do that? You’re doing such a great job.”

  “Don’t push me, Pali.”

  “Tell you what. Since you’ve been so helpful and we haven’t had any fun time lately, why don’t I take you to lunch at Hali’imaile General Store. It’ll be my Secretary’s Day treat.”

  “I think it’s called Administrative Assistant Day now. Is that today?”

  “Probably not. But you deserve something nice for holding down the fort.”

  “Well there’s nice, and then there’s fabulous. Are you sure you can afford to take your ‘secretary’ to a gourmet lunch like that?”

  “Yep. My ‘administrative assistant’s’ been very patient with me, and I can’t think of a better way to enjoy a little of this cash burning a hole in my pocket.”

  We went out to my car and I drove the short distance to Bev Gannon’s famous Maui restaurant tucked alongside the two-lane road that cuts through the Hali’imaile pineapple fields. The place actually used to be the company store when the surrounding fields were sugar cane, not pineapple. The street view doesn’t do justice to the delights that lie within. It’s a simple clapboard building, with a tall false front, painted beige with white trim. Wide wooden steps lead to a generous front porch. Once you step inside, you can feel the love. Vibrant sunny yellow walls sport colorful fish sculptures, and dozens of local art pieces are on display on tall shelves behind the bar. The palpable attention to detail assures diners they aren’t there just to enjoy a great meal—they’re also going to be treated to a few hours of pure aloha.

  Two and a half hours later we left, giddy from the luscious lunch and two glasses of wine apiece.

  “You okay to drive?” Steve asked.

  “Probably. But why don’t we walk home, just in case? We can be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

  We didn’t talk much on the walk home, and once we got inside, we headed to our respective bedrooms. I don’t know what Steve did, but I needed a few winks before heading back out to pick up my car. When I awoke, it was already getting dusk outside—time to start dinner. The bank in Pa’ia had been closed for more than an hour.

  ***

  The next morning the phone rang as I was getting out of the shower. I hoped Steve would pick it up, but he didn’t. When I heard the message on our kitchen answering machine kick in, I dashed out of the bathroom and snatched up the extension. The caller was already leaving a message.

  “…hope you can come and get me. I’ll wait for—”

  “Trish, is that you?”

  “Oh hi, Pali. Sorry to bother you at home. I tried your work number and your cell but you didn’t answer, so I looked up your home number. I’m over here on Maui now. Can you come get me at the airport?”

  “I thought you had to attend a conference in Honolulu.”

  “Oh yeah, that. Well, that’s the story I gave my boss. If I sign in and show up for a few sessions, he’ll never know why I really came over. The conference goes on for three more days, so I’ve got lots of time to make an appearance.”

  “What type of work are you in?”

  “I see dead people.”

  I waited a beat.

  “No, really,” Trish went on with a chuckle in her voice, “I’m in the funeral services business. I’m a licensed embalmer and mortuary cosmetologist.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, sounds kinda weird, huh? But the pay’s great, and I’m really good at it. In fact, I won first place in the accident victim restoration category back at school. I enjoy putting people back together. It’s sort of a joke around town that I’m the ‘go-to girl’ for the serious Humpty Dumpty cases.”

  No way was I going to comment on that.

  “I live only ten minutes from the airport,” I said, eager to change the subject. “Tell me what you’re wearing, so I’ll be able to recognize you at baggage claim.”

  “I’m wearing black. I’m always in black. Pretty much goes with the territory.”

  In New York City that wouldn’t be much of a tip-off. But on Maui, a woman dressed in head-to-toe black would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.

  I parked in the hourly lot on the airport loop road and skittered across the street to the terminal. I stepped into the baggage claim area and scanned the crowd, searching for Trish. I spied her standing next to the far baggage carousel, wearing a forlorn look and sporting more black than the Wicked Witch of the West. Black pleated pants, a plain black blouse and a three-button black blazer. A black hobo-style purse was slung over her shoulder. She was standing next to a small black roller bag.

  I waved at her and she reached down and grasped the handle of the roller bag. While she was making her way across the open space, I spied a former federal co-worker from my TSA days. It was Lenny Williams, a Drug Enforcement Agent. He was holding the leash on a beagle sniffing its way through a row of unclaimed luggage. I smiled at him and he nodded.

  I started walking toward Trish. So did Lenny and the beagle.

  When we got within speaking distance, Trish spoke first. “Wow, you’re way younger than you sound on the phone,” she said.

  What’d she mean by that? Did my voice quaver? Was it too soft or too low? I wanted to ask her how my voice sounded ‘old’ but by then Lenny and the beagle had stopped in front of us. The dog stiffened, then barked a couple of times—loud—before resolutely sitting down on its haunches.

  “Is this a cadaver dog?” Trish said in a stage whisper to Lenny. “I work with the deceased. It’s impossible to get the smell out of my clothes.”

  Le
nny ignored her.

  “May I see your bag, miss?” he said, pointing at my beach bag purse.

  “Lenny, it’s me—Pali Moon.”

  “Miss, I’m asking for permission to search your handbag.”

  “For crying out loud, Lenny. I’ve only been off the job a couple of years. It’s me, Pali. You know, the air marshal who flew the Honolulu to Taipei route?”

  Lenny’s face told me he sure as heck remembered me, but he wasn’t going to let on.

  “Sure, officer, I have nothing to hide,” I said. Perhaps because Lenny knew I’d worked for Homeland Security he’d selected me to assist in a training exercise for the dog. I’d been involved in my fair share of phony scenarios while I was on the job, so it made sense I’d be his logical choice.

  I handed Lenny my bag with a wink.

  “I’m really sorry about the delay,” I said turning to Trish. “My car’s parked right across the street.”

  “No problem. I’m in no hurry,” she said.

  “Do me a favor, Lenny,” I whispered. “Don’t dump everything out where everyone can see it. I’m going to the bank today to deposit—”

  Lenny held up a hand to halt my little speech. Then he lowered my purse to the dog’s nose level so it could get a good sniff.

  The beagle went berserk.

  CHAPTER 17

  Lenny rooted around in my bag and pulled out the Ritz Carlton envelope. When he lifted the envelope flap and saw the large bundle of cash inside, he looked over at me slack-jawed.

  “Miss, I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me,” he said in a tone that sounded like a recording.

  “Lenny, wait,” I said. I turned and touched Trish’s arm. “There’s been a mistake. Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Can’t I just go with you?”

  “No,” said Lenny. “I’m taking her into federal custody. No visitors allowed.”

  Not good. Not good at all.

  “Just have a seat over there,” I said to Trish. “I’m sure this won’t take long once I answer their questions. I’ll call you on your cell when I can—”

  “Excuse me, Miss,” Lenny said, interrupting. “But the security detail has alerted to contraband in your handbag. You need to come with me now.”

  The security detail? Sorry to break it to you, dude, but it’s not a detail—it’s a dog. And a rather scrawny little dog, at that. But, of course, I kept my opinion about the dog’s lack of stature to myself. I’d seen enough training videos of federal agents dealing with uncooperative suspects to know it’d be best for me to keep my mouth shut and my feet moving.

  We got to the back of the baggage claim area and Lenny punched in a code on a locked door. Then the three of us—Lenny, me, and the beagle—went inside. The tiny room was furnished with a small rectangular table and two metal chairs. No window, no art on the walls, no cooling breeze from a fan. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d want to hang out in on a coffee break. By now, the beagle appeared almost sleepy calm. The only sign of vigilance was in its eyes—it kept them resolutely trained on its handler as if anticipating a yummy reward.

  “We’ll wait here for the proper authorities to arrive,” Lenny said, setting my bag down in the middle of the table. “Have a seat.”

  My cell phone chimed. Lenny shook his head and I let it go to voicemail.

  I sat down and leaned over to pet the dog, but Lenny jerked the leash, pulling Fido out of my reach.

  “It’s illegal to touch a federal officer,” he said. “Oh, and I’ll need to see some ID.” He pointed to my purse. “Do you have a driver’s license or other identification in there?”

  I nodded.

  “May I look?” he said.

  Again, I nodded. He dumped the contents of my purse out onto the table. The dog twitched as if it was dying to launch into its gotcha routine all over again, but it stayed quiet.

  “Where’d you get so much cash?”

  “It’s payment for services. I’m a wedding planner and this is the money I was paid to put on a rather expensive wedding this weekend.”

  “Do you usually conduct your business in cash?”

  “No, my customers usually use a credit card.”

  “Would you remove your ID from the wallet for me, please?” His tone was softening. Maybe his memory was slow on the uptake and he was finally recalling we’d once been colleagues working side-by-side at this very same airport.

  I pulled my driver’s license out of the wallet and handed it to him. The cheery rainbow on the license was the only spot of color in the stark white room.

  “Pali Moon. You still live on Makomako Street in Hali’imaile?”

  “Yes.”

  Just then, a DEA supervisor arrived. Lenny left the dog to keep an eye on me while he and the supervisor left the room. They huddled outside the half-open door. I caught snatches of their conversation, but couldn’t hear enough for it to make any sense.

  I glanced down at my cell phone on the table. The caller ID just showed a number, and I wondered who’d called. I picked up the phone and was punching in my voicemail code when the door swung open. I snapped the phone shut.

  Lenny led the other guy into the room, but the supervisor did all the talking. “We’re going to be impounding the contents of your purse for further testing,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “It caused the security dog to alert for drugs.”

  “Drugs? What kind of drugs?” I looked at the stuff spread out on the table. Jumbled along with my wallet and the envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills was a tiny Kleenex pack, a plastic hairbrush with most of the bristles missing, and a smattering of tattered business cards from Napili Limo, Steve’s photography business and a few other vendors I use in my business. “If I have any drugs in here, it’s most likely going to be Tylenol or Advil or something like that.”

  “The security dog’s trained to alert for opiates, marijuana, and methamphetamine,” the supervisor said. “Not Tylenol.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “You’re in custody and will be taken down to the local police station. We really can’t say much more than that right now.”

  “What about my personal property? As you can see, I’ve got a lot of cash here.”

  The two men exchanged a glance. “I don’t think you should count on getting the money back, Ms. Moon. It’s the primary reason you’re going downtown.”

  ***

  I waited in a little interview room at the Wailuku Police Station for nearly half an hour before anyone showed up to talk to me. Then a guy came in and handed me a can of Diet Pepsi. “I’m Sergeant Bremmer, with the Hawaii Narcotics Enforcement Division. How’re you doing?”

  “As good as can be expected, I guess. But I need to make a phone call.”

  “Lawyer?”

  “No, a wedding client. I was picking her up at the airport when I got detained by the feds. I need to call her and let her know what’s going on. Although I don’t know exactly what is going on.”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “How about I get someone to call your so-called client to let her know you won’t be meeting with her today? You can write her number down here.” He pulled out a business card, flipped it over to the blank side and slid a pen across the table.

  I wrote down Trish’s name and number and he picked up the card and left.

  When he got back he said, “Your client said she’ll call you back when she can. I told her you’d be here a while longer and she said in that case she’s heading back over to Honolulu. She sounded kinda nervous to me.” He eyed me as if hoping I’d blurt out a confession that I’d been at the airport to score a big drug deal and, what the heck, why don’t I give you the real name of my ‘so-called client’ so you can bust her before she gets on that plane for O’ahu.

  “Great,” I said. So, I’ve probably lost a wedding client over this. Are you going to tell me what I’m accused of?”

  “In this room I�
�m the one asking the questions. But, to show good faith, I’ll make an exception just this once.” He smiled that brittle smile cops flash when they pull you over for fifty in a thirty-five. “Here’s the deal, Ms. Moon—mind if I call you Pali?” He didn’t wait for me to respond before going on. “You showed up at the airport this morning carrying a large amount of cash reeking of cocaine. You caused quite a stink—pardon the pun—with the drug-sniffing dog.”

  “Cocaine? That money was payment for a wedding. I’ve got the invoices to prove it.”

  Again with the snarky smile.

  “We’ve had a chance to talk with Detective Wong,” he went on. “We know you’ve been consorting with a person of interest who’s been on our watch list for quite a while now. So why don’t you tell me more about how you came to be in possession of ten thousand dollars that’s so saturated with drug dust we’re going to have to give our canine officer the rest of the week off so he can recover from nasal fatigue?” He chuckled at his own lame humor.

  “Look,” I said. “I run a legitimate business. I own a wedding planning service that coordinates destination weddings for mainland clients. I don’t do background checks on my customers. If I was paid with drug money, then I’m as horrified as you are. But I have no idea where that money came from, I swear.”

  “You look like a nice person, Pali. And believe me, we want to believe you. But in order to give your story that ring of truth we’re seeking here, we’ll need some solid information. When Detectives Wong and Konomanu took your statement about your wedding client…what was his name again?”

  “Are you talking about Keith Lewis?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s the name he used. Anyway, they were less than impressed with your candor. So now it’s my turn. We’re going to go over every single detail of everything you know about this Mr. Lewis, and when we’re through, if I feel you’ve been truly forthcoming with me, you can leave. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds like a complete waste of everybody’s time. I didn’t hold anything back when I talked with Wong and his partner. I really doubt there’s anything more you can wring out of me.”