Page 29 of Tiki Beach
“The ID tag,” Keone said. “Takeo Yamamoto kept it as insurance against Santos.”
“And buried it under the plumeria tree where the crane statue once stood,” I added. “A secret passed down to Pearl, who finally decided it was time to bring the truth to light through her Heritage Garden project. Unfortunately, by itself it isn’t evidence of anything.”
“Maybe if we find the journal, that will give enough context,” Keone said.
I shrugged; none of what we were discovering so far was anything Lei could act on.
We photographed everything we found, careful to replace each document exactly as we’d found it. As I was returning the last folder to its drawer, I glanced at my watch and was shocked to see it was after 9:30 p.m.
“It’s getting late,” I said. “We should head back.”
“Back to Ohia?” Keone asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a thirty-minute drive, and we’re both tired. My place is just five minutes from here.”
I hesitated, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was—the stress of the investigation, the emotional weight of what we’d discovered, and the physical drain of two earlier swims that day had all conspired to make the thought of a drive home distinctly unappealing.
“We could grab your clothes in the swim bag from the truck tomorrow,” Keone said. “You can borrow a T-shirt to sleep in. Get a fresh start in the morning.”
“Practical as always,” I said with a smile. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”
“Or maybe I just like having you in my bed,” he teased, giving me a kiss too quick to respond to.
We carefully made our way out of the museum, locking the door behind us and leaving no evidence of our nocturnal research expedition.
The night had grown cooler, and the stars blazed overhead in a clear sky as we drove the short distance to Keone’s cottage. Mango was gone from the little orchid-lined porch; that reminded me of Tiki and I shot off a quick text to Aunt Fae that I’d be gone overnight and to please feed the Feline Overlord.
“Make yourself at home,” Keone said, flipping on lights as we entered. “I’ll grab you a towel if you want to shower.”
“That would be perfect,” I admitted, suddenly aware of the dust clinging to my skin from the archives, along with dirt from under the plumeria tree.
While Keone rummaged in a linen closet for clean towels, I wandered to the kitchen and filled two glasses with water, gulping mine down greedily. I handed the other one to Keone. “Hydrate.”
“Sure. Meanwhile, here you go.” Keone handed me a fluffy towel and an extra-large, worn UH Hilo T-shirt. “Bathroom’s all yours.”
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the items. “I won’t be long.”
The hot water was blissful, washing away not just the physical grime but some of the emotional heaviness as well. I borrowed Keone’s shampoo, inhaling the familiar scent of coconut and something distinctly him I’d become happily familiar with. By the time I emerged wrapped in the oversized T-shirt, my hair swaddled in the towel, I felt almost human again.
I found Keone in the kitchen, assembling a plate of cookies and opening a bottle of wine. “Thought you might want a nightcap,” he said, pouring two glasses. “Help process everything we learned today.”
“You thought right,” I agreed, accepting a glass and taking a sip. The rich cabernet was exactly what I needed. “Do you think we should call Lei with what we found today?”
“Nah. None of it is time-sensitive,” Mr. K said. “This is our time.”
“I like the sound of that.”
We moved to the lanai on the front of the house, settling onto comfortable chairs that faced the moonlit ocean. The rhythmic sound of waves breaking on the shore in the distance provided a soothing backdrop as we discussed what we’d discovered.
“So, Pearl’s father was essentially a spy for the U.S. military while being processed for internment,” I said, nibbling on a homemade chocolate chip cookie. “And Felix Santos was not only trying to steal the Yamamoto land but was taking valuables from detainees and potentially murdered someone who protested.”
“And Pearl discovered all of this through her father’s hidden journal and archival research,” Keone added. “No wonder she was determined to create that garden as a memorial. It’s not just about beauty and a legacy—it’s about righting old wrongs.”
We fell silent for a moment, the weight of history and present danger settling between us like a physical presence.
“You know,” Keone said, his voice lighter, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Hmm?”
“When are you going to move in with me?” His tone was casual, but I could sense the seriousness beneath it. “You live here half the time anyway. Your toothbrush has its own holder in the bathroom.”
