Page 40 of Tiki Beach
As Lei made the call, Keone pulled me aside, his expression serious. “Kat, we need to be careful. Whoever attacked Kawika won’t hesitate to come after us if they think we’re close to finding the box.”
“I know. But we can’t back off now.”
“Just promise me you’ll stay close,” he said, his eyes holding mine. “No solo heroics.”
I decided not to remind him I was the former Secret Service agent trained for combat; he was feeling protective, and it was sweet. “Same goes for you,” I replied, squeezing his hand. “We’re in this together.”
Lei rejoined us, tucking her phone away. “Officer Mahelona will meet you at Pearl’s house. He’s been instructed to give you full access and assistance.”
“Thanks, Lei,” I said. “Any word on the drive’s contents?”
“Too early yet.” Lei’s wildly curly hair was escaping its ponytail. She pulled an elastic band off her wrist and bundled it tighter on top of her head. “I’ve put a rush on it, but it might be hours before we know what’s on there.”
“Then we focus on the crane box,” I said. We took a further moment to fill her in on our research at the museum and discovery of the military ID hidden under the plumeria tree.
“This is all pointing to motive and something larger in play, but I still don’t have anything hard I can act on,” Lei said. “Keep me updated. And watch your backs. Whoever did this is still out there, and they’re getting bolder.”
12
Pearl’s beach house looked different to me by the time we got back to Hana in Keone’s tiny plane and then drove to Ohia. The lush, peaceful gardens seemed to hide shadows as we approached, while the ocean breeze carried chill whispers. I bit my lip, using the tiny pain to remind myself not to get too fanciful.
Officer Mahelona, Lei’s contact, met us at the front door. His imposing uniformed frame blocked the entrance until he verified our identities. Young but serious, he had the hypervigilant demeanor of someone determined not to let anything happen on his watch. “Detective Texeira briefed me,” he said, stepping aside to let us enter. “Full access to the house, but I’m to stay with you to protect the chain of evidence retrieval.”
“Understood,” Keone said, with a nod of professional respect as all three of us donned latex gloves. “We’re looking for a specific item. A wooden box with a crane carving. Likely sandalwood, probably old.”
“Size?” Mahelona asked.
“Small enough to hide,” I said. “Maybe the size of a jewelry box or a thick book.”
The interior of the house was immaculate, showing Kawika’s careful attention during Pearl’s absence. Everything seemed precisely arranged, from the stack of gardening magazines on the coffee table to the row of orchids blooming serenely on the windowsill.
“Where should we start?” I asked, feeling overwhelmed by the tall cabinets and packed shelves. Pearl had lived in this house for decades. A small box could be hidden anywhere.
Keone tipped his head back and closed his eyes, musing. “If I were hiding something important, I’d want it close, but not obvious. Somewhere I could access it or check on it regularly without drawing attention.”
“Her bedroom,” I decided. “Let’s start there.”
Pearl’s bedroom was as meticulously kept as the rest of the house. The four-poster bed was made with hospital corners, a colorful silken spread smoothly draped across it. Family photographs lined the dresser—Pearl as a young woman with her parents, Pearl at her teaching retirement ceremony, Pearl with various groups of students over the years, Pearl with her husband.
I started with the dresser drawers, carefully pulling out and examining each one without disturbing the perfectly folded contents. Nothing seemed unusual or out of place. Keone checked the large walk-in closet.
Officer Mahelona checked beneath the bed and behind the headboard, his movements efficient. “Nothing here,” he reported.
We expanded our search to the en suite bathroom, the hall closet, the guest bedroom. Each space yielded nothing but more evidence of Pearl’s organized, purposeful life.
“This isn’t working,” I said after an hour. “We’re thinking too conventionally. Pearl is cleverer than this.”
“You’re right,” Keone agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She hid evidence in origami cranes. She wouldn’t just stick the box in a cabinet.”
“But we know she used to keep it in her desk. Before it held important evidence. So it’s probably here in the house.” I stood in the center of the living room, trying to think like Pearl. “If I had a precious family heirloom containing evidence that could destroy a powerful family, where would I keep it?”
My eyes swept the room, taking in details I’d overlooked before: traditional Japanese calligraphy scrolls on the walls. A collection of ceramic figures arranged on a shelf. The small Buddhist shrine in the corner with incense holders and a photograph of Pearl’s parents.
“The shrine. It’s perfect.” I moved toward the elevated table in the corner. On top sat a framed photograph of Pearl’s parents and husband, incense holders, and a small bell. What I had initially taken to be a decorative base was a wooden rectangle marked with intricate carving.
“That’s it,” I breathed, kneeling on the low padded bench before the shrine. I removed the items atop the box carefully and set them aside. Then I removed the sandalwood box and held it, examining the exterior as Keone and Officer Mahelona came close to observe.
The sandalwood’s rich reddish color had deepened with age and regular handling. The top was carved with an exquisite flying crane, wings outstretched in flight, every feather detailed with remarkable craftsmanship. It was heavier than it looked, suggesting contents beyond the merely ceremonial.
