Livin' Lahaina Loca Page 4

  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.”

  “No, Ms. Moon, you probably aren’t. But if I know anything, it’s that all the jokers come out on Halloween. I’ll put out a BOLO for your missing young woman, but I’m sure she’ll show up on her own in a day or two. Oh, and about the vandalism to your car? I’ll get a copy of my report to you within a couple of days. Here’s my card if you need the report before then.” He handed me his business card. Then he turned and walked away.

  I’d assumed I’d feel better once that creepy hair was out of my car. But I didn’t. I felt like I’d just shoved Crystal Wilson off a high cliff and I could hear her screaming all the way down.

  CHAPTER 6

  I drove to my house using muscle memory. My mind was elsewhere. Who’d left the hair in my car and why? Was Wong right and it was just someone playing a Halloween prank? More importantly, was Crystal Wilson still missing? I didn’t notice the traffic and I didn’t remember braking for any stop signs or red lights. I snapped back to the present as I took the right turn from Hali’imaile Road onto my street.

  Steve was sitting on the front porch. He waved as I drove around back, and then he met me at the kitchen door.

  “I’ve been waiting for you. Couldn’t reach you on your cell.”

  “Sorry. The thing keeps dying on me.” I pulled out my cell phone and showed him the blank screen.

  “Well, all hell’s been breaking loose here the past couple of hours.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Phone’s been ringing off the hook. For starters, Keith, the guy from your La-la Land wedding, phoned at least three times. On the last call he got downright ugly and accused me of not giving you his messages. Farrah’s called a couple of times, and then Glen Wong just called a few minutes ago. He wants you to call him back right away. There were a couple others. I wrote ‘em down.” He pointed to a stack of paper scraps on the counter.

  I stared at the stack, plotting my phone-back strategy.

  “Hey,” Steve went on. “Why’s Wong calling you? You find another dead body or something?”

  His talk of another dead body got me thinking. My reputation as a wedding planner would really take a hit if word got around I was on the grim reaper’s speed dial. It’d be wise to keep the ponytail-on-the-backseat and the missing bridesmaid to myself, at least until the police made a move. The last thing I needed was the media getting wind of it and blowing it into a breaking news story about tourist safety going down the tubes on Maui. Steve did freelance photography for The Maui News and had a lot of friends in the newsroom, so I played it cool.

  “Nah. My car got keyed in Lahaina last night so I went down to the police station to fill out a report. Wong took my statement.”

  “Ace Detective Glen Wong took a damage report on a car worth about five bucks? My, my, how the mighty have fallen.” Steve smiled. He and Wong were friends and no doubt there was going to be some trash talking about Wong taking my pathetic report down at the gay bar where they both hung out. But Wong was used to keeping secrets—his own and other people’s—so I was pretty sure he’d keep his mouth shut about the hair.

  “He was the last guy to leave the station so I guess it fell to him,” I said, trying to cut Wong some slack. “He probably just called to tell me he’s got the police report ready for me. You know, so I can file an insurance claim.”

  “So, what’s going on with your guy Keith? Why’s he calling and calling? He got a beef with you?”

  “Who knows? I went down to Lahaina Harbor to check out the boat where they’re having the ceremony and it’s all good. The captain’s a nice guy, the boat’s gorgeous, and we’re all set up for next weekend’s ceremony. Say, have you had a chance to talk to them about wedding pictures?”

  “Yeah, we talked on Tuesday. They ordered the full meal deal. I’ll be shooting nonstop from the minute they get up next Saturday until they’re going to bed that night. I hope they don’t want me to stick around for anything beyond that. I’m not into that kind of stuff.”

  “In more ways than one.”

  “Funny.”

  The kitchen phone started ringing. Steve threw up his hands and turned and left through the swinging door.

  “Hey,” said Farrah. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “My cell died and I just got home. What’s up?”

  “Guess who I met this afternoon?”

  I knew it was Nicole, but friends don’t steal friends’ thunder. “Who?”

  “Your guy—Keith Lewis.”

  “Really? The guy? Not the bride?”

  “Oh yeah, she came in first, but then she wanted me to do him.”

  “And…”

  “You know that creepy ponytail you showed me last night? I got a real strong vibe about it when I laid out Keith’s cards. By the way, has your bridesmaid shown up yet?”

  “Not that I know of. But I took your advice and went to the police.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “Not much. Remember me telling you about Detective Glen Wong from that thing that happened last winter?” Of course she remembered. The “thing” I was referring to had been a personal tragedy for Farrah.

  “Yeah.” Her voice was hushed, like even the slightest recall of the incident brought it all rushing back.

  “Wong’s the guy who took my report today. And he took the hair as evidence.”

  “Well, good. Now you can let it go. It’s not your problem anymore. But after reading Keith’s cards, I’ve got a strong feeling he may quickly become a person of interest if your girl doesn’t show up soon.”

  “Huh. What’d you see?”

  “All I can say is there’s some wicked ohane around those two—especially him.”

  “He was one cool customer when they came in to order their cakes this morning.”

  “Go figure. Hey, the guys from the county permit office were at your shop in Pa’ia today.”

  “They say anything?”

  “Not much. A couple of them came in the store at lunchtime to get a sandwich. I did some serious pitching about how small businesses like yours were the soul of Pa’ia Town. They were sympathetic and all, but said their hands are tied by the historical society nut jobs. I think you should consider doing some serious sucking up to Bessie Yokamura.”

  Bessie was the head of the Maui Mo’olelo Society, and it was pretty much Bessie, and only Bessie, who determined what was and was not culturally worth saving on the island.

  “As soon as this wedding’s over I’ll think about it. For now, I’m okay where I am.”

  “That’s pretty much how I feel about finding a new place to live. One day they’re gonna catch me living up here, but until then, I’m saving a boatload on rent.”

  We wound up the call, but I promised I’d come by the next morning before heading down to Lahaina.

  Next, I called Glen Wong at his office number even though I knew he’d have gone home by then. The dispatcher asked if it was an emergency or did I want to leave a voicemail. I left a message.

  Finally, I called Nicole’s cell number. Given the uneasy feeling I had about Keith, I chose to deal with her rather than with him.

  “Oh, hi Pali,” she said when I announced myself.

  “Give me that phone,” said Keith in the background. There was a jostling noise and then Keith was on the call. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours!”

  “I was checking out the boat for your
ceremony. Then I drove up to Kula to order your cakes. I’ve been working on your wedding the entire day.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you don’t answer your phone. Maybe me and Nicole wanted to go with you to see the boat.”

  “My cell phone died. And the reason I didn’t invite you to go along to the harbor is I needed to check it over first and make sure it was okay. You wouldn’t want me wasting your time looking at a scow, would you?”

  “Isn’t that some kind of pig?”

  “That’s a sow. A scow is a boat used to haul garbage.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “I need to talk to you—pronto. Can you come over here?”

  “Tonight? It’s getting kind of late.”

  Silence served as his answer.

  “Okay, no problem,” I said. “Give me an hour to grab something to eat, and I’ll—“

  “No! I’ve already been waiting forever. Get your ass down here right now.”

  I quickly changed clothes and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge before heading back out to my car.

  Since money obviously wasn’t an object in Nicole and Keith’s wedding choices, they were staying in a colossal suite at the Kapalua Ritz-Carlton in West Maui. The resort was about as far away as you could get, both symbolically and physically, from my place in Hali’imaile. I took the Honoapi’ilani Highway along the edge of the West Maui Mountains, down to the coast at Launiupoko, past Lahaina Town and then kept going. And going.

  The highway necks down at Kapalua and becomes a narrow lane that creeps around the extreme north side of the island like a glorified goat trail. The people who live beyond Kapalua are mostly hardcore locals who don’t mind the one-lane stretches and steep drop-offs to the valleys and ocean below. For their trouble, they’re rewarded with a pristine natural setting. The constant offshore winds blow across thousands of miles of ocean bringing in fresh, oxygen-rich air that’s about as unpolluted as any you’ll find on Earth.

  But I wasn’t going that far. The Ritz is situated on a hill, before the roadway narrows. It’s the last stop in a long string of oceanfront development that defines West Maui. I pulled into the upper parking lot and made my way past Kumulani Chapel and into the spacious lobby of the hotel. I’d assisted a few brides who’d gotten married at the Ritz—either in the chapel or on D.T. Fleming beach. The on-site staff had always treated me graciously, but I couldn’t help feeling like a sticky-faced kid crashing an adults-only party whenever I showed up there. Needless to say, I didn’t wear tee-shirts or shorts when I went to the Ritz. For my meeting with Keith I’d gone totally wrinkle-free in polyester black slacks topped by a faux silk tunic with a Chinese-style bamboo print. Farrah had scored the tunic for me at a yard sale in Wailuku. It looked like it had probably once been part of a bartender’s uniform, but the price was right. I’d substituted my ubiquitous rubba slippas for a pair of black strappy sandals. In other words, I looked as respectable as I ever got when not attending an actual wedding.