Page 36 of Tiki Beach
“Anything hard? Because I need something to tie all this historical stuff to the attack on Pearl.”
“Afraid not, but it’s still important.” I filled her in on yesterday’s events. “We’re gathering quite a cache of motive.”
“And it’s getting the Santoses moving,” Lei said. “Unfortunately, burning those cranes is nothing more than a minor fire violation, but I’ve got that in my back pocket to charge him with if I have to. Hopefully I find more evidence on the drive. Until next time—keep up the good work, Kat.” Her gaze fell to Tiki, sitting at my feet, and an elusive dimple creased her cheek. “And cat.”
11
Saturday mornings were sacred in my world—the one day a week when I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping past dawn. No postal regulations to enforce, no early mail trucks to meet, no schedule except the one dictated by my own body’s need for rest.
At least, that was the theory.
In reality, Saturday mornings in our household involved Tiki’s insistence that breakfast should be served at precisely 6:17 a.m., regardless of human preferences. This particular Saturday was no exception.
“Mrrrow.”
I kept my eyes firmly shut, clinging to the remnants of a pleasant dream involving Keone, a deserted beach, and absolutely no investigations or postal emergencies.
“Mrrrrrow.” The vocalization grew more insistent, accompanied by the gentle but deliberate press of kneading paws on my chest.
“Five more minutes,” I mumbled, burrowing deeper into my pillow.
The weight on my chest shifted, and suddenly Tiki settled directly onto my pillow, her whiskers tickling my nose. I cracked one eye to find myself staring directly into an unblinking yellow gaze approximately two inches from my face.
“This is harassment,” I informed her.
Tiki responded by placing one paw delicately on my cheek and patting, as if checking whether I was sufficiently awake to fulfill my breakfast-providing duties.
“Fine,” I sighed. “But you should know this is an abuse of our relationship.”
Tiki arched her back lazily, as if she hadn’t been fully awake and pestering me and leapt gracefully from the bed. At the doorway, she paused to ensure I was actually getting up before proceeding downstairs toward the kitchen.
I glanced at the clock: 6:20 AM. “Argh!” At least she was consistent.
Shuffling downstairs in my oversized UH Hilo T-shirt (the same one I’d borrowed from Keone), I found Aunt Fae already at the table, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and the latest issue of “True Crime Quarterly” in the other.
Aunt Fae had never worn a stitch of makeup ever, and had spent most of her life covered up from the sun in Maine. This was possibly why her skin was soft and smooth, taking a good ten years off her seventy-something age. She kept her salt-and-pepper hair in a no-nonsense bob she trimmed herself with nail scissors. Today she wore her usual outfit, a T-shirt advertising Ohia General Store (where she provided backup help for Opal and Artie) and a pair of jeans.
To me, she was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever known—inside and out.
“Morning, sunshine,” she greeted without looking up from an article that, judging by the visible headline, involved a dismemberment in Delaware. “Your furry alarm clock is right on time.”
“Tiki’s practicing psychological warfare,” I muttered, making a beeline for the coffee pot. “I think she’s mad that I didn’t come home the other night.”
“Cats and grudges,” Aunt Fae said. “They go together like peanut butter and jelly.”
I poured coffee into my favorite old Do Not Speak to Me Until this Mug is Empty cup, a relic from when I’d moved into the shack behind the post office.
I then set about appeasing Tiki with gourmet cat food—the expensive kind that claimed to be “wild-caught sustainable seafood medley” but smelled suspiciously like regular miscellaneous fish parts, but with better marketing.
Misty, a delicate gray tabby with white paws and Tiki’s daughter, rose languidly from her basket and came to eat as well. With a much mellower personality than her mother, she seemed to benefit from cruising in her parent’s more turbulent wake. With Tiki so firmly claiming me as her human, Misty had attached to Aunt Fae. All of this was part of a harmonious home I was hesitant to break up, even for something as appealing as Mr. K in bed every night.
“Any developments in the investigation into Pearl’s poisoning?” Despite her casual tone, I could see genuine concern in Aunt Fae’s blue eyes; Pearl was a friend to us both.
“A lot has been happening. I found evidence hidden in Pearl’s origami cranes,” I said, leaning against the counter as Tiki, after her earlier demands, picked fussily at her breakfast. “A computer drive with documentation about Felix Santos’s crimes during the internment period.”
Auntie’s eyebrows shot up. “In paper cranes? That’s a proper use of crafts. I approve.”
“I went back to the Hana police station with Lei to have a look at it yesterday, but it was encrypted. Lei has the drive now. She’s having the tech department at the main station go through it.” I sipped my coffee, savoring the rich warmth as I took a seat beside Auntie. “David Santos confronted me at the cultural center yesterday. It got . . . tense.”
