Page 16 of Tiki Beach
I glanced around; Keone’s jaw had gone rigid and so had Ilima’s. Their family resemblance was remarkable in that moment.
Lei continued, “I’ve opened an official attempted murder investigation. I’ll need statements from everyone at that tea party.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “I can get you contact information for all the Red Hats who were there.”
“Already have it from Pearl’s phone records, which we got a warrant for along with her house and grounds. I’ve got appointments with Edith Pepperwhite and Clara tomorrow morning. Josie’s in Honolulu visiting her daughter but flying back tonight.”
I smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. Detective Lei Texeira was fast-moving and thorough. “What about Rita?” I asked, remembering the newest member of the Red Hats. “She was sitting next to Pearl and seemed really shaken by what happened.”
“On my list for tomorrow afternoon,” Lei confirmed.
“We have some updates for you,” I said. “Ilima, can you fill Sergeant Texeira in on your run for mayor and the documents Pearl was collecting?”
Ilima did so, concluding with our aborted trip to Pearl’s house and Kawika’s denial of our attempt to search for the missing box.
“Well, now that we know for certain that this was attempted murder.” Ilima smoothed her muumuu with a determined gesture. “It’s time I tell you exactly what Pearl discovered about Mayor Santos, and why someone might want to kill her over it.”
Keone jerked as he poured coffee, splashing the dark roast over the counter in surprise. “We’re all ears, Mom.”
“Me too,” Lei said, her voice tinny in the phone’s speaker. “Sounds like you’ve been holding out on us, Ilima.”
I grabbed a wad of paper towels and dabbed at the puddle as Keone finished pouring three cups, adding a splash of coconut milk to each.
Ilima accepted her cup gratefully. “The Heritage Tea Garden project wasn’t just about creating a beautiful space,” she pronounced. “It was about reclaiming a stolen legacy.”
For the next twenty minutes, she outlined a complex history I’d never imagined. The proposed garden site adjacent to Pearl’s home, a large oceanfront parcel, had once belonged to Pearl’s family before they were sent to internment camps during World War II. While they were detained, their property—like that of many Japanese-American families—was seized and later sold for a fraction of its value.
“Mayor Santos’s grandfather was on the commission that handled these seized properties,” Ilima said. “Pearl discovered records showing he personally acquired several parcels at absurdly low prices, including her family’s land. That same land eventually became part of the Santos family real estate portfolio.”
“That means the current mayor inherited Pearl’s stolen property,” Keone said, connecting the dots.
“Precisely. And when Pearl approached him privately about returning the parcel for the Heritage Garden—as a form of historical reconciliation—he was initially supportive. Until she mentioned making the full historical record public as part of the garden’s educational mission.”
“Let me guess,” I said dryly. “His support suddenly evaporated.”
“Like morning dew,” Ilima said. “He claimed budgetary concerns, zoning issues, all manner of bureaucratic obstacles. Meanwhile, Pearl discovered he was in talks with New Ohia Development to build luxury condos on the site.”
“The same developer behind the New Ohia state park project we stopped?” The hair rose on the back of my neck, remembering the corrupt scheme that had nearly destroyed our village.
“Same players,” Ilima nodded. “Pearl had emails, meeting notes, even a draft contract that Santos had initialed. All proof that while publicly claiming to support cultural preservation, he was privately selling out to developers.”
Keone whistled. “That could tank his political career if it became public.”
“And your campaign announcement next week would have been the perfect stage to reveal it all,” I added.
“With evidence in that sandalwood box,” Ilima finished, a note of frustration returning to her voice. “Evidence that’s now missing.”
“Speaking of. It’s a very good thing you didn’t search Pearl’s house and corrupt the chain of evidence collection,” Lei said. “I need you folks to stay within the lines and let me do my job—especially if we’re dealing with someone well-connected politically.”
We sat in thoughtful silence, the gravity of the situation settling around us. This wasn’t just about local politics or a garden project—it was about historical injustice, corruption, and an attempted murder plot to keep it all buried.
“It appears there’s a strong motive for someone to stop that info getting out, and your campaign, possibly, Ilima,” Lei summarized. “I’ll try to fit a search of Pearl’s house into the next few days—but it’s such a long drive out there. I’ll need to fill my day top to bottom to make the commute worthwhile.” The road to Hana and Ohia was a famous minimum of two hours consisting of one-lane ways, antique bridges, stunning views, waterfalls—and many hairpin turns. “I’ll keep you posted, and meanwhile—be careful, all of you.” She ended the call.
“All right, team. What’s our next move?” I asked, looking from Keone to his mother.
“We need to find out who took that note,” Keone said firmly. “It’s our only concrete lead at the moment.”
“Well I for one am glad we didn’t share that little tidbit with Lei,” I said. “I don’t want to get dinged for tampering with the mail.”
