Page 12 of Tiki Beach
“Only our core campaign team—Pearl, Councilman Akana, and me.” She paused, her intelligent eyes connecting the dots. The purple orchids trembled around her face. “Oh. You think—you think Pearl’s collapse might be connected to our announcement?”
“We don’t know,” I admitted. “But it’s a concerning coincidence.”
Ilima set down her iced tea glass with purpose, her expression transforming to determined leader in an instant. It was the same look I’d seen Keone wear when facing a challenge—that Kaihale resolve that made you believe anything was possible. “I need to see those documents. Pearl kept them in a sandalwood box in her home office.” She turned to Keone. “She gave me a spare key to her house years ago. We should go there immediately and grab that box.”
“Wait,” I said, remembering Opal’s words about the carved box with the crane design. “A sandalwood box with a crane carved on it?”
Ilima looked surprised. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Opal mentioned seeing Pearl put something in it before the tea party.” I exchanged another side-eye with Keone. “She said Pearl locked it with a key she wore around her neck.”
“Yes. She always kept that key with her,” Ilima confirmed. “If someone hurt Pearl because of these documents . . .”
“Then we’ll find out who,” Keone finished firmly, standing. He offered his hand to his mother. “K & K Investigations is on the case—with special consultant Ilima Kaihale.”
Ilima accepted his help with a grateful smile, rising to her feet. “I’ve always wanted to be a detective. Your father used to say I missed my calling because I could extract a confession from a stone.”
“And you still can,” Keone laughed, dropping a kiss on top of her head, careful not to disturb the lei po‘o. “Let me grab my keys. We’ll take my truck.”
As we headed out, I cast one last glance at the file drawer containing the mysterious envelope. The crane will fly once more. The garden reveals all.
What could it possibly mean?
Ilima paused at the door, turning back to take in our modest investigation headquarters with genuine affection. “You two have built something special here,” she said. “Not just this business, but your partnership. It reminds me of your father and me, Keone.” Her smile was bright despite the worry in her eyes. “He would be so proud of you both.”
I touched the gold bracelet on my wrist, drawing strength from its connection to this remarkable woman and her son.
But as we descended the porch onto the beach rock and out into the golden afternoon light beside our cars, I couldn’t shake an ominous feeling.
I rolled my shoulders back determinedly. With Ilima’s regal presence, Keone’s steady strength, and my Secret Service skills, we’d deal with whatever awaited us at Pearl’s house as best we could.
Even so, I kind of wished Tiki was coming too—but when I peeked under the porch, she was nowhere to be found.
4
The drive to Pearl’s beach house took us along the winding coastal road, a journey I’d made just yesterday for what was supposed to be a simple tea party. Late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement as Keone navigated the turns with practiced ease. How different everything looked now, though the same turquoise waves still crashed against black lava rocks and the same rainbow-colored bougainvillea spilled over lichen covered stone garden walls.
Ilima sat in the front passenger seat, her muumuu arranged elegantly. She’d been quiet for most of the drive, her fingers absently touching the orchids in her lei po‘o or pleating the fabric of her dress as she gazed out the window. I could almost see the campaign speeches and community plans forming behind her thoughtful eyes.
Pearl’s home came into view—a charming single-story plantation style house perched on a bluff overlooking the Pacific. The plantings and acreage around it that were to become the Heritage Tea Garden looked rather ordinary now, but I had glimpsed what was intended for them.
Yesterday, the property had seemed welcoming and peaceful. Today, the shadows slanted long and hinted at secrets.
As we pulled into the crushed coral driveway, I noticed a blue Honda Civic parked near the back steps. “That’s Kawika’s car,” I said, recognizing the faded surf shop sticker on the bumper.
“Good,” Ilima nodded. “I was hoping he’d be here.”
We got out of the pickup, the warm air heavy with the scent of plumeria from the trees that lined Pearl’s walkway. Their fallen blossoms created a fragrant carpet beneath our feet as we approached the small back porch. Before we reached the steps, the door opened and Kawika stepped out. Today he wore pale blue scrubs and his long black hair was tied in a neat ponytail, suggesting he’d come straight from his other job, which Pearl had told me was as a nurse at the Hana Health Clinic.
His grim expression brightened at the sight of us. “Auntie Ilima!” he called, hurrying down the steps to embrace Keone’s mother with obvious affection.
“Kawika. My boy.” Ilima cupped his face in her hands the way only Hawaiian aunties can, studying him with concern. “You look exhausted.”
He shrugged broad shoulders, the gesture conveying both acknowledgment and dismissal of her worry. “Been a long day.” His eyes moved to Keone. “Good to see you, cuz. And Kat, good to see you again.”
I blinked in surprise. “Cuz? Like—really a cousin or just social cousin? Because everyone seems related on this side of the island.”
Keone slanted me a smile. “Did I never mention that Kawika is my father’s sister’s son’s son. First cousin once removed.”
