Page 26 of Tiki Beach
Takahashi shook his head. “Nobody come yet.”
I knelt by the disturbed area. The rich red soil clung to my fingers as I examined it more closely. “Yes, someone dug here recently. The soil’s still loose.”
Keone joined me. He pushed some of the dirt aside with his hand. “Either they found something or they didn’t.”
As he shifted more soil, something metallic glinted in the sunlight that broke through the branches—a brief flash like a fish’s scales underwater. Keone carefully extracted a small metal tag attached to a broken chain, crusted with dirt and tarnished by years underground.
“Military ID,” he said, his thumb wiping away the soil to reveal engraved numbers and a name. The metal was cool despite the warmth of the day, as if it held the chill of its buried years. “Santos, F.”
“Felix Santos,” I said. “The mayor’s grandfather.”
“What would his military ID be doing buried under Pearl’s family tree?” Keone wondered, turning the tag so it caught the light filtering through the leaves above.
Takahashi had been watching us. “Yamamoto-san say once he have proof of Santos crimes. Maybe bury it for safekeeping.”
“Or as insurance,” I suggested, brushing soil from my knees as I stood. The scent of plumeria was stronger now, almost dizzying in its sweetness.
“I think Yamamoto-san hide more than ID tag,” Takahashi said, his shadow stretching long as the sun began its descent. “Pearl-san find old journal last month. Very excited. Say now she have proof of everything.”
“A journal?” Keone asked sharply, the tag still held in his palm. “Did she keep it in a sandalwood box with a crane carved on the lid?”
The old man’s eyes widened slightly. “Crane box, yes. Pearl-san showed me once. Inside is proof of old crimes. Not just attempted land theft.”
“Did she say what kind of proof?” I asked.
“This tree remembers everything.” Takahashi shook his head, the movement deliberate. He tipped his head to gaze up at the ancient plumeria, its branches heavy with fragrant flowers that seemed to float against the deepening violet sky. “Too bad it can’t tell us what it knows.”
The leaves swooshed overhead, as if in agreement. I felt a strange prickling at the back of my neck. “Wouldn’t that be interesting,” I said, and a plumeria pinwheeled down to land on my shoulder, as if the tree understood.
9
My phone buzzed with a text, the electronic chime startlingly modern in the setting of Pearl’s sunset-lit garden. It was Lei: “Let’s catch up soon. Toxicology report shows oleander wasn’t only toxin in tea.”
I showed the message to Keone, whose expression darkened as his brows drew down. “We need to tell her about this ID tag we found and the disturbed soil.”
“I think we have the motive for Pearl’s poisoning,” I said. “Whatever evidence she found, it goes beyond covering up land theft . . .”
“And the current mayor, Felix Santos’s grandson, has every reason to keep the past buried,” Keone said. The tag and its chain clinked softly as he tucked them into his pocket.
We thanked Takahashi for his help and promised to return soon. As we walked back to Keone’s vehicle, our feet leaving temporary impressions in the soft grass, the old gardener called after us, his voice carrying on the still evening air.
“Be careful! Old secrets have sharp teeth!”
A shiver zipped up my back at his words, canceled out by my stomach growling audibly as we got into the truck.
“I guess crime solving works up an appetite,” Keone teased, starting the engine.
“I haven’t eaten since your mom made me a kalua pork sandwich earlier in the day,” I admitted. “Any chance we could grab dinner?”
Keone glanced at his watch. “Braddah Hutts food truck should still be open in Hana. Perfect for a quick dinner before—” he paused, a gleam in his eyes, “before we visit the history museum again, this time without a chaperone.”
“The museum closes at 5:00,” I pointed out.
“True,” he agreed, pulling onto the main road. “But I bet we could learn a lot more from those archives about Pearl’s father and Felix Santos. This military ID tag is just the beginning.”
I considered, watching the tropical landscape blur past the window. “I’m sure Auntie Leilani would open up for us if we called her.”
“Yes,” Keone said, “but she’s eating with Rita and Maile tonight. Something about a fundraiser for the cat shelter.”
