Page 11 of Tiki Beach
There was no window at the front of the building, so Keone cracked the door to peer outside, squinting against the late afternoon sun. He broke into a smile.
“It’s Mom,” he said, his voice carrying that special blend of respect and fondness he reserved for her. “Hey, Mamacita,” he called out to her. “What brings you this way?”
“Just popping by to see my two favorite investigators,” she called back. I heard her car door slam.
Meanwhile, I shoved the file drawer that held the incriminating envelope shut with a metallic bang that seemed to echo in the small space. My guilty conscience was kicking into gear big-time.
A minute later, Ilima stood framed in the entrance, backlit by golden sunshine that created a halo effect around her impressive silhouette.
At sixty-five, she was a striking woman—tall and statuesque, with silver-streaked black hair pulled into a bun. Crowning her head was a lei po‘o of purple orchids and ferns. She wore a traditional floor-length muumuu in a rich royal blue fabric patterned with subtle white ginger flowers. The garment whispered against the wooden floor as she moved, exuding the faint scent of pikake and something distinctly more expensive—the French perfume I’d given her for Christmas this last year.
“Wow, Mom, you’re looking fancy.” Keone enveloped Ilima in a hug that lifted her sandal-shod feet slightly off the ground. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“I have news that couldn’t wait, and neither of you would answer your phone.” The gentle rebuke carried exasperation.
I reflexively checked my phone and winced seeing three missed calls. “Sorry, Auntie. We were just discussing?—”
“No worries. I know you’re both busy.” She turned to me, arms outstretched. “Come here, Kat.” I stepped into her embrace, breathing in her scent as she hugged me. Ilima’s hugs were legendary—somehow both gentle and fierce, like she was imparting strength directly into your soul. When she pulled back, she took my wrist in her hand, examining the gold bracelet that had once been hers. She admired the arc of gold with raised black enameled letters, her thumb brushing over the intricate Hawaiian pattern spelling out Kuuipo (sweetheart.) “Beautiful,” she said softly, “Just as when Keone’s father gave it to me as an engagement gift. It looks good on you.”
“Thanks, Auntie Ilima. It means a lot to me.” The bracelet had been passed to me last Christmas by Keone on her behalf. It wasn’t just jewelry; it was acceptance into a family I’d grown to love deeply.
“So what’s this news that brings you all the way out to our humble headquarters?” Keone asked, as he pulled our least rickety chair out for his mother and handed her a glass of iced tea he’d poured. “We’re trying to understand what happened to Pearl.”
“As am I,” Ilima replied, taking a refreshing sip. “Particularly since Pearl was to play a significant role in my announcement next week.” Her eyes widened with excitement. “A role I was hoping you two might share in as well.”
“Announcement?” I echoed. A breeze through the open window on the back wall stirred the humid air.
“I’ve decided to run for mayor of Hana and Ohia in the upcoming special election.” Ilima straightened, the movement causing her lei po‘o to shed a single purple petal that drifted to the floor like a tiny royal proclamation. Outside, a mynah bird called raucously, as if announcing the news to all of Ohia.
“Mayor?” Keone’s surprise was evident, but his expression quickly transformed into a proud grin. “Mom, that’s incredible. You’ll rock that office!”
“It’s about time someone with actual integrity took on the role,” I added sincerely. “Mayor Santos doesn’t have the best reputation after that last public budget meeting.”
“I decided recently,” Ilima explained, her gold bracelets jingling as she gestured. “After Mayor Santos’s financial improprieties came to light, several community leaders approached me. At first, I said no—you know how I value privacy. But then Pearl convinced me.”
“And Pearl was going to help with the campaign?” I asked, thinking of the mysterious note about “the garden” and Pua’s comment about an unsigned development contract.
“Pearl was to be my campaign chairwoman,” Ilima confirmed, her mouth turning down with concern. “That woman has more energy at seventy-eight than most people have at thirty. She was passionate about developing our platform around balanced growth, with cultural preservation at its heart.”
Keone and I exchanged a silent glance, communication born of months working side by side: this was a piece of the puzzle we hadn’t known.
“The Heritage Tea Garden project,” I said slowly. “Was that part of your campaign platform?”
“Yes, and Pearl’s brainchild entirely,” Ilima nodded, her eyes brightening with enthusiasm. “You have seen her plans, Kat—a beautiful fusion of traditional Japanese gardens with native Hawaiian plants. A place for education, meditation, and community gatherings. She wanted it to be her legacy to Ohia.”
“Unlike the New Ohia development disaster,” Keone added, referencing the corrupt land deal that had nearly destroyed our town, before being exposed.
“Exactly.” Ilima’s expression clouded momentarily. “What many people don’t realize is that Mayor Santos was quietly supportive of that development, despite his public statements to the contrary. He stood to benefit considerably from certain . . . arrangements.”
“Are you saying he was corrupt too?” I asked, surprised. “Working with the Changs?”
“Not openly,” Ilima clarified, leaning forward confidentially, her voice dropping. “But willing to look the other way for the right incentives. Pearl had evidence of his duplicity—emails and meeting notes from when she served on the planning commission.”
I felt a chill despite the warm afternoon air and rubbed my arms. “Evidence she was planning to make public as part of your campaign announcement?”
“Next Tuesday,” Ilima confirmed. “We were going to hold a press conference at her house, the proposed Tea Garden site. The location itself is magical at sunset—the perfect backdrop for our vision of Ohia’s future.” Her expression grew wistful. “Pearl was so excited about it. We were going to share all this at the tea party, but then . . . you know what happened.”
“Mom, did anyone else know about this evidence?” Keone asked.
