Page 9 of Tiki Beach
Opal’s hand hovered over the shells, trembling slightly. “There’s danger here. Not just for Pearl.” She pointed to a shell that sat alone at the edge of the scarf. “This might be you. The seeker. But look—” She indicated another shell nearby. “This speaks of watching eyes. Someone knows you’re asking questions.”
“What about the one that fell?” I asked, noticing how Artie had grown very still.
Opal bent to retrieve the fallen rune, holding it in her palm for a long moment before placing it in the center of the pattern. “This one portends death,” she whispered. “But whether it’s already happened or is yet to come, I can’t tell. Generally, when a rune falls out of the reading, it doesn’t want to be included.”
“Could be the death of a secret, or a way of life,” Artie said. “And no death could mean Pearl will be fine. Eventually.”
“Nothing is too straightforward with the runes,” Opal said, her finger tracing a connection between the death rune and another. “This suggests that what’s happening now has roots in the past. Something buried that won’t stay buried.”
“The Heritage Tea Garden,” I murmured, remembering Pua’s comment about the unsigned development contract. “Maybe this is about that.”
Opal gathered the runes quickly, as if suddenly uncomfortable with what they revealed. “Be careful, Katherine,” she said, returning them to her pocket. “The runes are clear about one thing—there’s danger in digging too deep.”
She must be serious if she called me Katherine. “But they also suggest that’s exactly what I need to do, don’t they?” I pressed.
Opal refolded her scarf, pinning it back around her neck with the unicorn brooch. “They do,” she admitted. “Just remember that some secrets are kept for a reason.”
Artie reached across the counter, his hand finding mine with unerring accuracy. “Watch your back, Kitty Kat. And maybe keep that cat of yours close by. Tiki’s better than a watchdog.”
“That she is.” I thanked them both, promised to be careful, and headed for the door. Artie unlocked it for me, his milky eyes somehow still conveying concern. I gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek, and he patted my shoulder. “Come back by if you need some more stew.”
As I stepped into the humid afternoon air, the envelope addressed to “The Keeper of Secrets” seemed to burn in my mind. Whatever was happening with Pearl went deeper than a simple health emergency—and I’d been pulled right into the middle of it.
At precisely three o’clock, I locked my desk drawer, retrieved the mysterious envelope, and slipped it into my purse. While I trusted Pua to handle the afternoon mail rush, I didn’t quite trust her not to snoop if given half a chance.
“I’m heading out,” I called, tossing today’s gloves into the rubbish. “See you tomorrow morning at the usual time.”
Pua glanced up from helping young Windy Nakasone with a big Amazon package. The once unfriendly girl gave me a cheerful wave as she hurried out of the lobby with her box. We’d come a long way since the little rascal declared she was marrying Keone and I had to disavow her of that notion.
“Will you be following up on that business we discussed this morning?” A couple of customers were unlocking their boxes but her arched eyebrow conveyed her meaning clearly.
“Just some personal errands,” I replied blandly. “Thanks for covering.”
The knowing look Pua gave me said she didn’t believe me for a second, but she nodded. “Give my regards to . . . whoever you might be meeting. And Keone, of course.”
I slipped out the back door of the post office, my pulse quickening as I crossed from the building toward the familiar shack that had once been my home. Now the humble former postal worker’s quarters served as the headquarters of K & K Investigations—a grandiose name for what was essentially me and Keone poking our noses where they didn’t belong, occasionally for pay.
The wooden steps of the porch creaked underfoot as I moved off the big beach rock top step, a sound that brought back memories of my first days in Ohia.
The shack looked different now. Keone and I had replaced the rusted tin roof, fixed the sagging porch rail, and even hung a discreet wooden sign with our business name carved into koa wood. The coconut palm that had been growing in one of the gutters was now transplanted to a spot far enough away from the side of the shack to account for its eventual growth (and coconut-dropping hazard potential.)
I frowned; the small porch usually held our bikes, but those had been moved. Today the porch held a pair of mismatched Adirondack chairs and a small foldable wooden table holding two sweating glasses of iced tea and a manila folder.
Before I could reach for the handle, the door swung open and there he was: Keone Kaihale, aka ‘Mr. K,’ the first person I’d met in Ohia—in fact I’d met him before I arrived, as he flew the plane I’d come in on.
He filled the doorframe, all six-foot-one of him, wearing swim shorts and a faded aloha shirt that did nothing to hide his broad shoulders. His warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Surprise. My last flight was canceled today. You’re right on time for today’s investigation.”
My heart did that ridiculous flutter thing the romance novels I’m addicted to never fail to mention. “Hey, hey, Mr. K,” I replied. “I didn’t expect you. Pua says hi.”
Smooth, Kat, real smooth.
“Who cares about Pua.” He pulled me in for a kiss that made me forget all about mysterious envelopes and suspicious tea for approximately five glorious minutes.
When we broke apart, I was breathless and momentarily disoriented. “That’s one way to debrief,” I mumbled.
Keone laughed, leading me to one of the chairs. “I thought we’d start outside,” he said, settling into the blue chair. “It’s too nice an afternoon to be cooped up in there.”
I sank into the red plastic chair, gratefully accepting the iced tea. “Any word from Lei about our samples?”
