Livin' Lahaina Loca Read online

  The suites wing was off to my right, but just to be on the safe side, I checked in at the front desk. What with finding the hair, dealing with the cops, and then Farrah’s verdict on Keith’s creepy vibe, I wanted to leave a clear trail of pebbles should I also go missing.

  “Ah, Ms. Moon,” said the clerk at the desk. “I have a message for you.” He picked up a folded piece of heavy ivory-colored vellum and handed it to me. Inside, Keith had scrawled, I’ll meet you in the lobby.

  I asked the clerk to ring their room and announce my arrival.

  About five minutes later, Keith ambled across the marble floor. He’d come alone. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his shorts and his head was down. I waited until the last possible moment to rise from the oh-so-comfy upholstered armchair to greet him.

  “Aloha, Keith. Again, I’m so sorry I was unreachable this afternoon. My phone has decided to go on strike unless I meet its demands for a new battery. And my phone’s so old I have to get the battery from off-island—in Honolulu—so it’s going to take a little while for me to get a new one.”

  He looked as confused as if I’d spoken to him in Hawaiian—or maybe Greek.

  “You okay?” I said, gesturing for him to join me in snagging one of the many unoccupied chairs in the airy lobby. Each of the chair groupings faced the ocean, and from the looks of things, it promised to be a spectacular sunset.

  “Can we go somewhere else to talk?” he said, surveying the lobby.

  There wasn’t another soul in sight except for the two chatting clerks at the check-in desk.

  “Sure, but I think we’ll be fine here. I doubt if they’ve bugged the lobby.” I smiled, but Keith’s scowl grew deeper.

  “I don’t want what I’ve got to say to get back to Nicole. How about we go out to your car?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  As I trudged out of the opulent lobby, I stole a quick backward glimpse of the rose, peach and maroon-streaked sky. What kind of news wouldn’t be better received against such a stunning backdrop? Oh well, clients were always demanding things that didn’t make much sense to me.

  I slipped into the driver seat as Keith wrenched open the passenger door and got in. He sat leaning forward in the seat and stared straight out the windshield. His expression was so grim I half-expected him to pull out a gun and carjack me.

  “We gotta talk.” He clamped a hand over his mouth as if talking was the last thing he wanted to do.

  I waited. He removed his hand.

  “Okay, here it is.” The words came out in a rush. “I really need you to drop this thing about Crystal. She never was Nicole’s friend; she was just some babe Nicole met at her health club who wormed her way into our lives. She was always pushy, always sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. I didn’t like her from day one, and Nicole knew it, but she wanted a half- dozen bridesmaids and she wanted a rainbow of pretty girls—you know, black, blond, brunette, redhead—the whole nine yards. It was hard to find a redhead that met Nicole’s high standards so when Crystal showed up, Nicole asked her to be a bridesmaid. Turns out she was a whack job, even though she was quite the looker.”

  “You keep saying ‘she was.’ Do you know something about Crystal you’re not telling me?” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You keep referring to her in the past tense.”

  He worked his jaw back and forth a couple of times, then turned to face me. “Look, she’s taken off and upset Nicole a week before our wedding. As far as I’m concerned, she is past tense and I hope she stays that way.”

  “What about the ponytail I found on my back seat?”

  “Like I said, she’s a total whack job. She probably cut it off to freak us out and make herself the center of attention. Trust me, right now she’s laughing her ass off about the whole thing.”

  He glanced into the back seat. “By the way, where’s the hair?”

  “It gave me the creeps so I took it out of my car.” I wanted to tell him it was none of his business what I’d done with it, but keeping rude remarks to myself was something I’d been working on ever since I became a wedding planner.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “If you’ll drop the whole thing, I’ll give you a hundred bucks to take that hair off your hands.”

  “What?”

  “That’s fair. You won’t need to worry about it anymore and I can toss it and get on with this wedding. I know she’s playing us, but Nicole’s really freaked out over Crystal taking off like that. I don’t want this thing hanging over us.”

  “Keith, I don’t have it anymore.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I gave it to the police when I filed the missing person report today.”

  From the look on his face, I’d say Nicole wasn’t the only one who was freaked out.

  CHAPTER 7

  I got back home a little after nine. I felt drained, but too wound up to go to bed so early. I stood in front of the open refrigerator hoping to find a forgotten stash of Maui Taco takeout. My stomach growled in impatience so I settled for microwaving some leftover mahi-mahi Steve had grilled the night before.

  As I munched on the soggy fish, I sorted through the stack of messages Steve had scribbled on odd scraps of paper: Keith, Glen Wong, Keahou, Farrah, the printer who was doing Keith and Nicole’s bridal announcements; and finally, at the bottom of the pile, Ono Kingston. Wait. Steve hadn’t mentioned the boat captain had called. Had he called before or after I’d met with him in Lahaina that afternoon? The message was written on the back of a junk mail envelope. I flipped it over. Nothing. Just Ono’s name and number.

  As much as I tried to deny it, I felt my heart rate pitch up a few notches. My fatigue hopped over to riding shotgun as curiosity slipped into the driver’s seat.

  If Steve had been home he’d probably have come down to the kitchen by now, but I went upstairs to check anyway. Maybe he was on the phone, or taking a shower, or playing a video game.

  No such luck.

  It was now almost nine-thirty—a bit late to return calls—so I got to work rationalizing why I needed to call Ono right away rather than wait until morning. He was a new vendor for me. Maybe he had a question, or perhaps he’d run into a snag with the schedule. Or, maybe… Stop it, I said to myself—get a grip. The guy’s got a honey in Honolulu who’s not only his love interest but also his boss. Why was I yearning for the mango on somebody else’s tree? I had my faults, but playing the ‘other woman’ wasn’t among them.

  But that didn’t stop me from punching in the number on the scribbled message.

  The call went to voicemail. I listened to the no-frills message—Aloha. You’ve reached Ono. Leave your name and number—and caught myself smiling at my reflection in the dark window above the sink. I stuttered a quick message and hung up.

  I was emptying the dishwasher when headlights turned into the driveway. I grabbed my purse and smacked on a little lip gloss. Then I recognized the car.

  “Hey,” Steve said coming through the back door. “You okay? You look kind of weird.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Any news about the hatchet haircut on the disappearing diva?”

  “Not really. Keith tried to convince me Crystal’s just playing around. He offered me a hundred bucks to give him the hair. Said it was bumming out Nicole and he wanted me to forget the whole mess.”

  “Whoa. He wanted you to hand the hair over to him? What’d he say when you told him you’d already given it to the police?”

  “Let’s say he didn’t look happy.”

  “And…”

  “That’s it. He didn’t say anything, but he looked a lot more worried than he’d lead me to believe.”

  “So what now? You going to drop it?”

  “I have no choice. It’s in Wong’s hands now. Maybe she just took off, like Keith said. But I’m still going to be keeping an eye out.”

  “Which is business as usual for you. I think working that TSA job made you pa
ranoid. You know, I spent the better part of Tuesday with Ken Doll and Bimbo Barbie going over every possible angle of their photo shoot and I’m convinced high crimes and misdeeds are way over their blond-i-locks little heads. I’ll bet you ten bucks they think Stephen Hawking sings back-up for Lady Gaga.”

  “Good point.”

  Steve bid me goodnight. I rinsed off my fish plate and put it in the dishwasher. Five minutes later, I was in bed.

  ***

  At seven the next morning I drove down to Pa’ia. I pulled into the alley behind my former shop space which shares a common wall with Farrah’s grocery store. The back door to the shop was open and I heard male voices inside. No work sounds, just loud voices and laughing. I went inside and all conversation ceased.

  “Hey, Pali,” said Tiko, one of the building inspectors from the county office. I’d met him right after the fire, when he’d annoyed me by nailing a ‘No Trespassing’ sign right into the mahogany of my front door.

  “Hey, Tiko. What bad news have you got for me today?”

  “Not so much bad news, just hoihoi—interesting stuff.” He turned to the two other guys standing in what had been the office area of ‘Let’s Get Maui’d’.

  “Yeah,” said one of the guys. “We heard you got new digs down in Lahaina.”

  “Just temporary. I’m waiting to move back up here once the Mo’olelo Society gives me the go-ahead.”

  “Oh well then, sorry, but maybe it’s bad news after all. Looks like you moving back here isn’t gonna happen.”

  I turned to Tiko.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m here to write up an occupancy permit, but it’s not for your wedding store.”

  “Are you going to make me do twenty questions, or will you at least give me the respect of spilling who cock-a-roached me out of my shop space?”

  “Pali,” he said, pointing to the two men standing next to him, “these guys are from the Maui Mo’olelo Society. This is Bono and that’s Mike.”

  They nodded.

  “So, the Mo’olelo Society’s finally getting around to blessing a tenant,” I said. “But it sounds like it’s not me.”

  “’Fraid not,” said Tiko.

  “So? Who is it?”

  “It’s them.”

  It took me a second to figure out what he was saying. “The Mo’olelo Society wants to move in here?’

  “Yep. It’s their building now, and they’re about as historical as it gets. They’re say they’re going to turn it into a visitor’s center.”

  “But it’s too small. Look around, it’s only about five hundred square feet. Way too cramped for a visitor center.”

  Bono spoke up. “We always wanted a little outpost in Pa’ia, but we couldn’t afford the rent. When they had the blessing party for this building Bessie looked around and said she thought this would be perfect. We don’t need much. Just a desk and some brochure racks.”

  It made sense, but I hated the idea of being shoved out. As he’d said, it was nearly impossible to find affordable shop space in Pa’ia.

  “I’m going fight this. You can’t just come in here and throw me out. I paid my rent; I was a model tenant for two years.”

  “A model tenant in an historic building. Sorry, but that’s progress—or I guess I should say, anti-progress,” said Bono. “I doubt you’ll get much support if you fight us. The merchants up and down this street will love the idea of tourists stopping in here rather than just blowing by on their way to up to Hana.”

  Pa’ia was on the famous road to Hana, a must-do tourist attraction. Unfortunately, most tourists didn’t stop in Pa’ia except maybe to buy a quick sandwich to sustain them on the three to four-hour drive.

  I went out back to wait to go up to Farrah’s apartment. The Mo’olelo guys were probably well aware she was still living up there, but everyone acted as if it were a well-guarded secret. When I saw their car moseying down Baldwin I went up and rapped on the door, using our little code knock. She opened up so quickly I assumed she’d been standing on the other side also waiting for them to leave.

  “How’s it going?” I said.

  “Can’t bitch, and too old to moan.” She motioned for me to sit down in my usual spot. “You want coffee?”

  “Mahalo. Say, did you hear who your new neighbor’s going to be?”

  She shot me a sympathetic look and nodded.

  “What am I going to do? I can’t take that fishy smell much longer, and it’s killing my business to ask clients to come through a back alley and clomp up those rickety stairs to spend twenty thousand bucks on a wedding.”

  “You want me to work a little black magic?”

  “No, but keep your ears open, okay? I’ve got to find a place for my shop.”

  She served the coffee and we settled in our usual spots—me in a ratty orange director’s chair and Farrah on her forlorn-looking velveteen sofa.

  “Guess what our pal Keith did last night?” I said.

  “Confess to some heinous crime?”

  “Hardly. He made me drive all the way to the Ritz and then he tried to give me a hundred bucks to forget I’d ever seen that hair.”

  “What’s that about?”

  “He says it’s upsetting Nicole and he wants us all to move on and consider Crystal’s disappearance simply her pathetic attempt to grab the limelight away from Nicole.”

  “Why’d he offer you money? Why didn’t he just ask you for the hair?”

  “Keith strikes me as the kind of guy who thinks everything has a price.”

  “Funny you mention it. He handed me a hundred dollar bill for a thirty-buck session, then told me to keep the change. That was even before I got started. It felt like a bribe.”

  “He’s loaded. I hope you kept it.”

  “Would you have taken his money for the hair?”

  “No way.”

  “Well, me neither,” she said. “I told him to tip his hotel maid. Those girls work hard and get paid slave wages. Besides, I don’t like the feeling of being bought off.”

  I knew what she meant. There’s a weird push/pull in living and working in a tourist destination. We all need a lot of money to live in Hawaii’s inflated economy, but most of us resent the step-and-fetch-it relationship it creates with the visitors we serve.

  “Anyway,” I said. “You got details for me on Keith’s visit yesterday?”

  “I don’t know. I probably should keep my mouth shut.”

  “Why?” I said. “Did he say something bad about me? Or is it that you think I’ll freak out over something you saw?”

  “All I’m saying is that guy puts a capital ‘C’ on the word ‘creepy’. Where’d you snag those two, anyway?”

  “The Internet. They told me they loved the gorgeous website Hatch whipped up for me while he was down for the count.” Firefighter Hatch Decker had spent most of February on my sofa recuperating from a broken leg. He’d jumped at the opportunity to work on a project he could do while sitting down.

  “Well, maybe he needs to update that website with a ‘no creeps allowed’ sign. You know, a circle with a creep in it and a red slash across?”

  I tried to imagine what the symbol for ‘creep’ might look like, but she’d already moved on.

  “First, I did his basic astrology chart. It turned out really strange. And then I laid out his cards. He gave off a peculiar vibe and asked the weirdest questions. I’d already done Nicole, and there wasn’t much there with her. She’s got a pale yellow aura, and she had pretty typical cards. Keith’s aura started off blood red, then turned dark—almost black. Look, I’m getting chicken skin just thinking about it.” She leaned over and showed me her forearm.

  “You think they’re incompatible?” I said.

  “Can’t say. But I found myself blabbing all kinds of fluff to her like ‘Loyalty may be less valued by your loved ones than you’d prefer’ rather than coming right out and saying, ‘This guy’s an apuka and he’ll cheat on you every chance he gets.’ It wasn’t so much incompatibility I sa
w, it was deception. The guy was totally phony.”

  I rolled that around in my mind. “Maybe Keith was just messing with you—you know, to try and throw you off. See if you were for real.”

  “Could be. I get lied to a lot. But auras don’t lie, and that guy’s was freakazoid. But, hey, I’m talking too much. My sessions are supposed to be confidential.”

  “Well, if it helps, I’ll let you in on a secret of my own. I’ll keep yours, you keep mine.”

  At that point, there was a rap on the back door of the grocery store downstairs and Farrah got up to peek out the window.

  “Egg man’s here,” she said. She went downstairs to let him in and I followed. The egg man brought a few dozen organic brown eggs from his little chicken farm up in Makawao every other day. Farrah paid him out of her cash drawer, and he disappeared as quickly as he’d shown up.

  “Sorry about the interruption.”

  “No worries,” I said. “Anyway, here’s my hush-hush—I met a great guy yesterday.”

  She widened her eyes. “You mean a boyfriend-type guy? What about Hatch? I thought you two were going good.”

  “Hatch and I are, well, friends. It’s like this—he’s off work today but instead of hanging out with me he’s going fishing with his buddies. So, whatever our relationship is, it’s not that serious and it’s definitely not exclusive.”