Page 13 of Tiki Beach
“Which makes him my grandnephew by marriage,” Ilima added, patting Kawika’s shoulder fondly. “Though removed enough that I don’t feel quite as ancient as that makes me sound.”
“Huh. I don’t know how you all keep track of that,” I said, feeling a little pang. “Aunt Fae is my only living relative that I’m aware of.”
“Well, I am not a Kaihale—my last name is Pali,” Kawika said. “But in Hawaii, if we had to explain how every cousin was related before getting down to business, we’d never get anything done.”
That drew a chuckle from all of us.
“How is Pearl?” I asked, unable to contain my concern any longer. “Any change since this morning?”
“Ms. Pearl’s stable but still unconscious. They’re talking about bringing her back to Maui, where her regular medical team can work with her.” Kawika’s smile faded. He gestured toward the house. “Let’s go inside. We can talk more comfortably there.”
The interior of Pearl’s home was immaculate and tastefully decorated with a blend of Japanese and Hawaiian influences. Delicate rice paper screens divided the open living area, creating intimate spaces filled with treasures from Pearl’s long life: antique Japanese woodblock prints, koa wood carvings, and photographs spanning decades of Hawaii’s history.
We settled in the sitting area near large windows that framed the ocean view. The late afternoon sun streamed in, illuminating dancing dust motes in the air. Everything looked the same as it had yesterday—except for the tea service, which had been cleared away.
“The neurologists are actually keeping her sedated right now,” Kawika explained, sitting on the edge of an armchair, his posture suggesting he might need to rush away at any moment. “They believe it’s best for her brain to rest while they monitor the swelling.”
“Swelling?” Ilima asked sharply. “What caused that?”
Kawika hesitated as if choosing his words carefully. “The initial diagnosis was a stroke, but some of her symptoms didn’t quite fit that profile.” He lowered his voice, though we were alone in the house. “After the toxicology screen came back, they found elevated levels of certain compounds consistent with a plant-based toxin.”
“Oh no,” Ilima whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. The orchids in her lei po‘o trembled. “So it wasn’t natural.”
“Between us—yes, the medical team is treating this as a poisoning case. MPD has been notified,” Kawika said. “But please, don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course we won’t.” My bracelet suddenly felt hot against my skin as I rubbed it back and forth. “I thought something was off yesterday, so I took samples of the tea. Keone delivered them to Detective Texeira at the MPD in Kahului. She said she would test them at their lab.”
Kawika nodded. “Good initiative, Kat. That could help the doctors identify exactly what we’re dealing with.” His gaze moved to Keone. “Your girlfriend has good instincts, cousin. If she hadn’t thought to preserve that evidence . . .”
“She’s saved lives before,” Mr. K said, his hand finding mine to give it a warm and reassuring squeeze. “And she’ll help save Pearl’s too.”
“We came for a reason, Kawika.” Ilima rose from her seat with purpose, adjusting her muumuu to fall into its usual graceful lines. “We need to find the sandalwood box where Pearl kept important documents.”
Kawika’s brows drew together. “What kind of documents?”
“Possible evidence of corruption,” Keone said. “Related to Mom’s upcoming mayoral campaign and Pearl’s Heritage Tea Garden project.”
“Wow. I had no idea something like that was going on, let alone that she was gathering evidence,” Kawika said, frowning. “But I did know you two had a big announcement to make. She was so excited about your campaign, Auntie Ilima.” He stood. “Her home office is this way.”
Kawika led us down a short hallway lined with more photographs—Pearl with various dignitaries through the decades, Pearl receiving community service awards, Pearl standing proudly before her school when she was still teaching. Through it all, she’d never let her spinal injury keep her down.
The final photo showed a much younger Pearl, dressed in traditional costume, beside a handsome Japanese man, also in vintage cultural fashion. He had to be her husband, who had died decades ago.
The office was a small but well-organized space, dominated by a beautiful koa wood desk positioned to face a window overlooking the garden. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes on Hawaiian history, Japanese culture, and botanical references.
“The box should be in her desk drawer,” Ilima said, moving toward the desk with purpose. “Pearl showed me where she kept it.”
Kawika hung back in the doorway, his expression troubled. “I should mention—someone was in here looking for something.”
We all froze and stared at him. “What do you mean?” Mr. K asked.
“When I came by this morning on my way to work to water the plants, the office was . . . not like this.” Kawika gestured to the perfectly organized space. “It wasn’t ransacked or anything obvious, but things had been moved. Books rearranged, desk drawers not quite closed. Someone went through her things very carefully, trying not to show they’d been here. I couldn’t find any signs of forced entry, so I tidied up, thinking someone from the tea party must have poked around in here yesterday.”
Ilima pulled open the center drawer of the desk. Her sharp intake of breath told us everything we needed to know before she spoke. “The box is gone.”
The four of us stood in silence as the implications sank in.
Someone had poisoned Pearl and stolen the evidence she planned to reveal.
