Chapter 4 #3
Officer Peahi crouched beside the hole. She photographed the empty depression from multiple angles, methodical and precise. “The crime scene flags are undisturbed,” she noted. “Whoever did this knew enough to avoid the marked evidence but came straight for this spot.”
“Someone was watching us.” The realization prickled across my skin. “They saw Tiki digging. They saw us react. And the minute we left, they came.”
“It appears so.” Peahi stood, mud on her uniformed knees. “In a thirty-minute window. While my partner was still on-scene.”
“That’s bold.”
She gave a curt nod and walked off to investigate something else nearby.
Tiki sat at the edge of the spot, tail wrapped around her paws, staring into the muddy depression with an offended expression. She glanced up at me and gave a low, throaty growl as her ruff rose.
Something was seriously wrong, and she wanted it on the record.
“I know, girl,” I said. “I should have let you dig it up when you had the chance.”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the photos I’d taken at the scene earlier. I enlarged the image where Tiki had been pawing and studied it closely, but there was nothing to be determined from the image.
Tiki sneezed, as if to confirm her important role.
I stood up and gazed around at the damaged garden: the crane at its broken angle, the stone lanterns with their smashed frames, the heliconia, ginger, and other flower beds slashed apart with the violence of something done in anger, haste or in both.
As I stood there, the plumeria tree’s last blossoms fell, spinning gently to land on the roughened ground.
I’d been in Ohia for close to two years. When I’d first come, this garden had been overgrown, nearly forgotten. What it had become was the tiny town of Ohia’s statement of what was important to preserve. Its very existence said: this is ours. This is record. This is not for sale.
But someone had trampled that statement with heavy boots and a machete or two.
“Ms. Smith,” Peahi said. “I want to talk to both Changs about their movements prior to the council meeting.”
“My guess is that, if they had anything to do with this, they hired someone. I saw them all squeaky-clean at the community center; they’d have been sweaty, tired, and covered with mud at the end of all this.” I made an encompassing gesture.
“Makes sense—but who’d do this from around here?”
“Probably someone hired from off-island. I can’t imagine anyone from Hana or Ohia being willing to steal sacred petroglyphs or destroy the Heritage Garden.” I put my hands on my hips.
Peahi gave me a measuring look. “You have a reputation for independent investigation.”
“Keone and I have a small side gig known as K call me Malia,” she said.
“And share anything you find with me directly.” She grabbed my phone and plugged in her personal cell number.
“Whoever is behind this has resources and no hesitation about destroying irreplaceable things.” Her gaze moved to the disturbed soil where Tiki sat. “And they’re watching what we do.”
“Not a pleasant thought,” I agreed.
We headed back to the vehicles. The garden was quiet; only the drip of water from the vegetation and the distant crash of waves on the bluff below broke the stillness as we reentered the parking lot.
Tiki paused at the garden’s edge, her single ear swiveling, tracking something I couldn’t hear. Then she turned and trotted to Sharkey with a purposeful gait, her kinked tail high.
Whatever had been buried under that plumeria tree was gone. But Tiki had seen it. I’d learned to trust what Tiki saw.
“I’m going back to the Hana station to write this up,” Malia said.
“Sounds good. Thanks for all you’re doing on this.” I waved goodbye and got into my SUV, letting Tiki in at my feet. The cat soon found her way to her comfy, strapped-in carrier.
My phone buzzed. Keone: How’d it go?
Someone beat us to it. Whatever Tiki found is gone. We were being watched.
His reply came: Come back to the store. Mom just found out something about Chang. Need to tell you in person.
What about Officer Peahi? She’s given me permission to call her Malia and almost cracked a smile. Next thing you know, we’ll be besties.
You’ll charm her yet. Meanwhile . . . just K clearly the Heritage Garden community “after-party” discussion was over.
Whatever Ilima had passed on to Keone had caused a concerned expression; he seemed to be adjusting to some news.
“Walk with me?” he nodded toward the beach across the street from the store.
“Sure. Just what I need. So frustrating that we didn’t get what Tiki had found at the garden.”
“Wasn’t good news here, either.”
The parking lot smelled of fresh asphalt and rain as we crossed it; I stepped right into the puddles in my precious size 11 Nikes, trying to rinse the red Hawaii mud from the garden off their soles.
The new asphalt the town had received from Chang Development as a “goodwill gesture” gleamed in the late afternoon light. Ohia’s biggest infrastructure project so far, the parking lot paving had been a serious need and a running joke since I’d arrived, and it had finally become a reality.
Crossing the two-lane Hana Highway, the beach stretched in both directions, waves soughing at the shore on a receding tide. We fell into step on the sand, Tiki nosing along the edge of greenery rimming the beach as if she’d soon discover another clue.
“Pua stopped by the store on her way home after she closed the post office and brought Mom a couple of letters she said seemed important. Mom opened them and showed me,” Keone said.
“First off, she had received a copy of Chang Development’s corporate filings.
She’d had her attorney in Kahului pull them when Victor Chang approached her with his plan for Sacred Valley.
Here’s the thing: Chang’s company is registered out of Honolulu, but the original incorporation documents list the same address as the Big Island Chang family’s property management arm. ”
I stopped and turned to face him. “Mr. K. Sweet Buns. My hunk o’ pilot burnin’ love. Are you telling me Victor Chang is connected to Pua’s organized crime family?”
“Mom’s been asking around. She thinks he’s Pua’s cousin. Her uncle Raymond Junior’s son. He had a falling-out with the family years ago, apparently, and went his own direction in development. Doesn’t keep in touch with anyone, including Pua, from all the gossip reports.”
“Maybe that means his company is legit. Not laundering money for gangsters like that other outfit that tried to develop New Ohia.”
“Maybe.” But Keone’s mouth was tight.
I thought of Pua staying behind at the post office while the rest of us had gone to the community meeting—her instinct to hold the fort, as always, but also the way she’d said ‘family is family’ when I’d mentioned the Chang name in passing that morning.
I’d let it go but I shouldn’t have. I could never forget she was a Chang; she couldn’t either.
“Does Pua know about all this?” I asked.
“Unknown. She dropped the mail and left. Mom wants to find out.” Keone’s jaw set. “And there was one more thing. Santos.”
“David Santos?” My eyebrows went up. “The main perp from that land scandal six months ago? He’s supposed to be in custody awaiting trial.”
“He posted bail two weeks ago. Kept it low-profile.” Keone glanced at the store, then at me.
“The other letter Pua dropped off came from Santos’s attorney, claiming the new administration, aka Mom and her office, have been ‘conducting a politically motivated campaign’ against their client.
” Keone bit off each word in a measured way.
“The letter said they were monitoring the mayor’s conduct closely and would file suit against her personally should she take any action against Santos—or even raise any questions about him or his activities. ”
The wave that crashed on the sand at that moment sounded like a curse word exhaled by the sea.
“Let’s recap.” I put my hands on my hips.
“That swine David Santos is out and watching your mother’s administration and her personally.
Skeevy developer Victor Chang is potentially connected to Pua’s crime family.
And it’s possible that both of these bozos have reason to want Sacred Valley cleared of any cultural protections. ”
“That’s about the shape of it,” Keone said. “They could be in cahoots.”
“Dude. You said ‘cahoots.’ How old are you?” I poked him in the rock-hard abs, trying to lighten the moment. “We’ve been hanging out with geriatrics too long.”
“You mean our wise elders.” He poked me right back. “And you called me ‘dude.’ And used ‘bozos’ in a sentence.”
I wasn’t sure who hugged who first, but we twined together like the perfectly matched six-foot-one people we were.
We leaned into each other for a long moment, our foreheads together, as we shared the breath of ‘hā’—an ancient Hawaiian kiss.
I shut my eyes. The ocean thumped its timeless heartbeat around us, rough but steady in the evening light. It was so good to be in Keone’s arms.
“How’s your mom doing with all of that?” I asked, pulling away at last. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tiki had found something of interest near the waterline and was conducting a private investigation with her nose.
“Managing,” he said. “She called her attorney after the meeting broke up, which is the right move. Then she told me she was going home to cook.” He gazed out over the ocean. “She’s making poi and chicken long rice. Which means she’s processing.”