Chapter 30 Sophie
SOPHIE
The Bishop Museum’s Great Hall thrummed with subdued celebration as afternoon light filtered through the Victorian era windows to cast geometric patterns across the polished koa wood floors.
The air carried the subtle scent of pikake lei mixed with the museum’s distinctive aroma—old paper, lemon polish, and the faint mustiness of centuries-old artifacts.
Sophie stood near the climate-controlled display cases, their lighting making the recovered treasures glow against black velvet backdrops as white-gloved curators arranged each piece with reverent precision—the lei niho palaoa with its polished hook of sperm whale ivory catching the light like aged bone, the feathered cape’s red ‘i‘iwi and yellow ?ō?ō feathers still vibrant after generations, the leiomano war clubs with their embedded tiger shark teeth gleaming.
Twenty-three pieces in all, each now bore a small brass placard noting its provenance and the donor family's name.
The newly christened Ali‘i Collection commanded the hall's central display area, surrounded outside by potted bird of paradise plants and stands of bamboo that rustled softly in the air-conditioning.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the museum director’s voice echoed slightly in the vaulted space, amplified by speakers hidden among the carved ceiling beams, “today we celebrate not just the return of these priceless pieces of history, but the dedication of those in law enforcement who made their recovery possible.” The director called them forward: Sophie, Pierre, Agent Marcella Scott, SAC Waxman, and Agent Janet Chen.
Sophie’s heels clicked against the floor as she came to stand with her colleagues, and the sound seemed to echo in her skull with the persistent ringing that had plagued her since the explosions in Thailand.
Applause washed over her like distant surf, muffled and unreal: the sunlight too bright, the trade winds too fickle.
Life kept moving hectically forward as if a fortress in Thailand hadn’t been blitzed to rubble, ash, and bone.
“ . . . and we give particular recognition to private investigators Sophie Smithson and Pierre Raveaux.” Camera flashes burst like small explosions.
Pierre’s palm touched the small of Sophie’s back through her sheath dress, his scent of cedar and sandalwood cutting through the numbness.
She let herself lean into his gentle touch, using it to anchor herself in the present moment.
Sophie accepted the cool wood of a koa plaque etched with Security Solutions’ logo, along with the weight of multiple lei: maile leaves with their spicy green scent, mokihana pods smelling of anise, and a simple string of kukui nuts that clicked softly when she moved.
Afterward, SAC Waxman asked for a private word.
The trio of Sophie, Pierre, and Marcella followed SAC Waxman's silver head through the quieter galleries, their footsteps muffled by runners protecting the floors.
They passed cases of ancient poi pounders and displays of tapa cloth, entering the Hawaiian Hall where afternoon light filtered through frosted glass to illuminate feather standards and carved tikis.
The door clicked shut, sealing them in climate-controlled quiet. The room smelled of lemon wood polish as Waxman stood beneath a portrait of King Kalākaua, his hands folded.
“First, I wanted you both to know that Dr. Yoshimura has been taken into custody and is cooperating fully. She’s agreed to a plea deal—turns out the Brotherhood was threatening her daughter, a freshman at UH.
They had people watching the girl, made it clear what would happen if Yoshimura didn’t use her position to help identify and collect the artifacts. ”
“That explains why she called in the cyber intrusion and the obviousness of the relics’ storage at the end,” Sophie said. “She was leaving breadcrumbs.”
“She wanted to be caught,” Pierre concurred.
“Yes. She’s provided names, locations, everything she knew about the splinter group and its operations here in Hawaii.
Most of the operatives went to Thailand with Sunan, but we’ve been able to round up the few that remained.
” Waxman paused, frowning. “Speaking of Thailand. I wanted to address the illegal drone strike that occurred there.” His steel blue eyes met Sophie’s with sincerity.
“The CIA never informed my office. The Thai government hasn’t even acknowledged the incident. ”
”Of course they wouldn’t,” Sophie said. “They don’t want to appear weak. And the CIA doesn’t generally share their plans with anyone.”
“Indeed.” Waxman said. “I’m glad you got out safe, and I want you both to know how much the Bureau appreciates your unique skills and connections. We’d like to work with you again in the future.”
“Of course. We’re available anytime you need us to support a case,” Sophie said.
Waxman shook their hands and left.
Pierre stepped out to take a call that came in on his cell, and Marcella approached Sophie. “I’m sorry about Connor,” Marcella said quietly. “I know you loved him.”
“At one time I did.” Sophie stared at a feather cape’s colorful design, seeing instead a sword raised in victory moments before obliteration. “We weren’t together anymore.”
“That doesn’t make it easier. What happened.”
“No,” Sophie said. “But it’s over now.”
“And your mother.” Marcella reached out, pulling Sophie’s stiff body into a hug. “That’s a lot all at once. I’m so sorry.”
Pierre appeared in the doorway, phone still in hand, frowning in concern as he took in Sophie’s rigid posture, Marcella’s attempt at comfort. Sophie met his warm brown eyes over Marcella’s shoulder.
“I’ll be okay,” Sophie said. For the first time since the missiles fell, it might even be true. “But I need time.”
Marcella let go and patted her shoulder. “Take those kids to that private island you love so much. Get some vitamin sea.”
“A great idea.” Sophie smiled at her friend.
As they walked out of the museum, Pierre’s hand found hers. Sophie squeezed it, welcoming the touch.
Together they walked forward into whatever came next, as yellow and white plumeria blossoms, knocked loose by the wind, cartwheeled across the walkway ahead of them.