Page 27 of Tiki Beach
“How do you know that?”
“Maile told me when I dropped off a big bag of cat food from Kahului on my way to meet you.” Keone often found ways to smuggle groceries and other supplies onto his flights to Hana, saving seniors and low-income friends the lengthy, gas-consuming trip. “Apparently, it’s a monthly planning session for their next adoption event.”
Rita and her dedication to homeless cats, with Leilani and Maile as her steadfast supporters, were a powerful trio. “So. The museum is closed; Leilani is busy . . . are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
Keone kept his eyes on the road, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just stating facts.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “And what about the breaking and entering laws?”
“Technically, it would be entering without breaking if someone happened to have certain skills,” he replied. “We’re just researching. Nothing will be taken or damaged. Hypothetically speaking.”
“And here I thought Pua was nosy.” I laughed, shaking my head. “Let’s get food first. I make better bad decisions when I’m not starving.”
Braddah Hutts food truck was parked in its usual spot just outside of town. A line of locals and a few adventurous tourists were already queued up for his famous poke bowls and plate lunches. The scent of grilled fish, roast pork, and sweet-spicy sauce made my mouth water as we joined the line.
“Keone! Kat!” a booming voice called out. Braddah Hutts’ manager waved from the service window. “Come, come! I make you a special plate!”
“Does everyone in town give you preferential treatment?” I whispered to Keone as we moved to the front of the line, ignoring good-natured grumbles from those waiting.
“Only the ones who owe me for carrying supplies or fixing their engines,” Keone replied with a wink.
The manager presented us with two enormous plates of fresh ahi poke and rice, with a side of mac salad and his secret recipe grilled vegetables.
“On the house,” he insisted when Keone tried to pay. “I hear you looking into what happen to Pearl. She good lady, deserve justice.”
“Thanks, man,” Keone said, accepting the plates. “You hear anything around town about who might have had it in for her?”
The big man leaned forward conspiratorially, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a whisper but was really normal speaking volume. “Mayor Santos is looking nervous these days. His boy too—the one working for the planning department. They been having big arguments.”
“The mayor’s son is on the planning commission?” I clarified, accepting a pair of chopsticks.
“Yeah. David Santos. He’s in charge of permits for historical buildings, among other t’ings. Pearl been fighting with him about her garden project.” We thanked him for the information and the food, then found a picnic table overlooking the view.
The poke was perfect—fresh ahi tuna marinated in soy, sesame oil, and limu seaweed, topped with crisp onions and avocado. Before my move to Maui, I’d never have imagined enjoying such a dish, but I’d come to love it.
We ate in appreciative silence for a few minutes, watching the sunset dimming in the distance. “So, David Santos,” I said finally, setting down my chopsticks. “Hmm. The mayor’s son runs the department that’s been blocking Pearl’s permits.”
“And if Pearl had evidence that his grandfather was involved in crimes at the processing center . . .” Keone let the implication hang in the air between us.
“It’s a solid motive,” I agreed. “But we need more than circumstantial evidence and old rumors to tie them to this.”
“Which is why we need to get more information.” Keone collected our empty paper luau plates and disposed of them in a nearby bin. “So, what’s your decision, Postmaster Smith? Are we going to be law-abiding citizens who wait until tomorrow, or . . .”
I sighed, already knowing what I was going to do. “Let’s drive by the museum and assess the situation.”
The Hana History Museum was dark and silent as we pulled into the small parking lot beside it. The restored storefront looked almost imposing in the deepening twilight, its white exterior ghostly against the darkening sky.
“No lights, no cars,” Keone observed. “Definitely closed.”
I pulled out my phone and tried Leilani’s number, but as expected, it went straight to voicemail. “She’s probably in the middle of dinner with Rita.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the truck’s engine ticking as it cooled.
“We could come back tomorrow,” Keone suggested, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t enthusiastic about that option.
I drummed my fingers on the dashboard, weighing the moral implications against the urgency of our investigation. Pearl was still unconscious in the hospital. Someone had tried to kill her. And the answers to why might be sitting in those archives, just waiting to be discovered. We had to help Lei put together the background of her case.
“Leilani would let us in if she were around,” I finally said. “And we won’t disturb or disrespect anything. Do you have a flashlight?”
