Chapter 7
“I’m frail, and this house is too open for me to keep this book safe any longer,” Pearl said. She handed the leather-bound journal to me. “Kat, you’re responsible for it now. I’ll go over what we talked about with Pali when he gets here.”
I sent Keone a text about being with Pearl and meeting with Pali. “So sorry, Mr. K. I’ll see you tomorrow, when and if we can connect. Can’t make it over tonight. Love you.”
He sent back a grumpy face emoji.
Well, that about summed things up for both of us.
Pali soon arrived and he and Pearl hit it off; they spent a good half hour “talking story” about all the people they knew in common, yet somehow they had never met each other.
Lani brought in a platter of “heavy pūpūs” (not to be confused with “light pūpūs,” though the distinction was unclear to me.) As they chatted, I loaded up a plate with poke, homemade taro chips, and a couple of skewers of barbecued axis deer meat, an emerging food source on Maui.
For dessert, I grabbed half a papaya filled with mango, banana, and guava sprinkled with cubes of haupia pudding, and wolfed that down. “Delicious, Lani.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you photocopy the relevant pages of the journal so Pali can keep them for reference? I’ll help if you like.”
I wasn’t willing to let the little book out of my sight. Chewing on a deer meat skewer, I manned the small desktop scanner/copier, making copies of all the journal pages for Pali.
Afterward, I handed one copy to Pearl and one to Pali and yawned. “I’m beat, guys. Anything I need to be here to discuss?”
“Don’t think so. I’ll go out tomorrow to search for the archive,” Pali said.
“Maybe the surveillance equipment I ordered will be in by then, and I can come with you and install it,” I said.
Pali was already scanning the photocopied pages I’d handed him.
“I see the name Emerson,” he said, pointing to a moniker scrawled in the author’s spidery handwriting.
“Big missionary family. They own a lot of land here in Hawaii. Speaking of, I’ve been working with my mentor, Dr. Nainoa Emerson, to document and interpret the petroglyphs.
He’s a professor at University of Hawaii in my archeology program.
I wonder if there’s a connection between his branch of the family and the one mentioned here. ”
“Well, they say it’s a small island,” I said, and yawned again.
“I’ll see if he’s free to come out and search with us tomorrow,” Pali said. “Let me know if that equipment comes in and we can all ride together.”
“Sounds good.” I said my goodbyes and left.
Hopping into Sharkey, my tummy full of Lani’s delicious cooking, I was definitely out of energy for driving further to Hana to eat leftovers with Keone; he’d just have to understand the case came first right now.
I frowned as I fired up Sharkey, mulling it over.
“I apologized,” I said aloud. “I’m keeping you informed.
Don’t be a baby, Mr. K.” Tiki, asleep in her carrier in the back seat, woke up enough to give a distinctly negative mew, as if defending Keone.
“And don’t you pipe in, Tiki. This is none of your business. ”
She emitted what could only be described as a snort.
The surveillance equipment never arrived the next day, and I was too busy with postal service business to catch Pua up with the latest on the case—which was fine, we didn’t need our resident Gossip Queen passing on anything at the moment.
Keone never so much as texted me; not a good sign—but I wasn’t going to indulge his masculine hissy fit with feminine blandishments, so I didn’t send any messages to him, either.
Later in the day, I got a message from Pali that his mentor, Dr. Emerson, couldn’t be found and he was pretty concerned about it. I suggested he notify Officer Malia Peahi—and I passed on her contact info.
Lei Texeira arrived as I was locking up the post office—I’d let Pua go home early to make up for my various absences this week, so I didn’t have to indulge her perennial curiosity as I gestured to my favorite homicide detective to enter.
I locked the front doors behind her. “Now here’s a surprise!
Great to see you, Lei. Let’s go take a load off in the K I’ve got it in my safe at the house in New Ohia for safekeeping.” Enough coffee had brewed to make a cup so I stopped the pot for a minute and filled a mug for Lei.
She grabbed it with both hands and sipped rapidly, her eyes closed. Finally she set the mug down. “Tell me the scoop,” she said, pulling her dog-eared notebook out of her back pocket. “This case seems to be evolving faster than we can keep up with it.”
“Truth. I’m not sure how Pali’s archaeology professor is related to the family mentioned in the archive we’re looking for in the lava caves, but once I meet him, I’ll ask,” I said.
I told her about the meeting last night with Pearl, and the information contained in the journal.
“Based on what Hannah Chang said about the families, and what Sophie’s financial research showed about the Cook Islands shell company being linked to Chang Development’s capital, there could be some important connections. ”
“Hmm.” Lei made a few notes, then picked up her coffee again.
“I’ve had an interest in the history of Hawaiian land ownership for a while, so I’m aware of the Emersons—one of the original missionary families.
They arrived in the islands in the 1820s and, over the following decades, accumulated land holdings across multiple islands through means that ranged from legal to technically legal to a category best described as taking advantage.
Some branches of the family had been genuinely reformist. Others had been—something else.
The current generation is diversified into real estate, private equity, and ranching.
” She sipped the coffee, her gaze on the geckos as they stalked a moth near the ceiling light.
“If the Emersons are the silent money behind Chang’s operation, and if this royal decree deeds land that Emerson interests have been profiting from for a hundred and thirty years . . .”
“Then the archive isn’t just a problem for Victor Chang,” I said. “It’s a problem for another influential group, too.”
“And don’t forget the Santos family. Seems like the vandalism and petroglyph thefts might be about more than one local developer trying to ram a project through.
” Lei was quiet for a moment. Outside, birds were going through their late afternoon routine: mynahs loud and quarrelsome in the parking lot, doves making their low, cooing sound from the roof.
The trade winds were down today, the air still.
Evening was approaching, a time of day on Maui when the air feels like a loving hand on the back of your neck.
Tiki, who had been left safely at home with Aunt Fae this morning, suddenly popped her head around the doorjamb of the bathroom. She had a hidden egress and exit into the shack I had discovered when she disappeared some time ago.
“Meerow,” she announced loudly.
Lei rolled her eyes. “I wondered when that cat was going to appear.”
Tiki pushed the bathroom door ajar and pranced over to hop up and sit between us on a chair, assuming the bossy yet regal posture she took on when a situation required feline oversight. She reached a hind leg up to scratch her one ear.
“Hey, Tiki,” Lei said. “How’s my favorite disruptor cat?”
Tiki twitched her tail, blinked once at Lei, then gazed at me expectantly.
Apparently it was my turn to speak; I was nothing if not obedient to my cat.
I cleared my throat. “It would be useful to talk to Pali’s mentor, Nainoa Emerson.
He’s someone who can translate the cave inscriptions,” I said.
“Maybe the carvings can corroborate what’s in this archive Pearl told us about from the journal. I should talk with Pali about this.”
“Tell me more about Dr. Emerson,” Lei said, making little circles on her notepad.
“I don’t know much. He’s a local, I believe, because Pali said he grew up on the east side and is his mentor in Hawaiian cultural archaeology.
Pali told us he’s the person who can translate the petroglyphs and give them an official reading that will hold up legally for NAGPRA if they try to use that to get a court order to stop the development.
Dr. Emerson had been helping Pali document the petroglyph site informally. ”
“Had been,” Lei caught the tense.