Page 50 of Tiki Beach
Outside, in the hallway, Keone checked his watch. “It’s early. Maybe we can make it to the temple and still meet Lei at the bank if we hurry.”
“Let’s split up,” I suggested. “You meet Lei at the bank, and I’ll go to the temple for the box. We’ll cover more ground that way.”
Keone’s expression darkened. “After everything that’s happened, you want to go alone?”
“The Buddhist temple is hardly a high-risk location,” I pointed out. “It’s a public place, in broad daylight, with monks and visitors present. Besides, we need to know what’s in both the temple box and the safety deposit box as soon as possible.”
I could see the internal struggle playing out on his face—the logical investigator acknowledging the efficiency of my plan versus the protective boyfriend wanting to ensure my safety. I chose not to remind him I was also a trained former Secret Service agent and knew a dozen ways to disable an attacker with or without a weapon.
Why cut him off at the knees?
I guess I was learning a thing or three about relationships—finally.
“Okay,” he said at last. “We’ll take separate rideshares. Call me the minute you have the box and are on your way to Lei’s office at the police station.”
“Deal,” I said, and gave him a quick kiss. “I got this. You got this. We both got this.”
The Iao Valley Buddhist Temple was a serene oasis nestled among tropical foliage near the park at the end of the Valley. I loved the drive back through the sparsely populated valley with its steep, corrugated green walls sculped by time, erosion, and seasonal waterfalls. As usual, puffy clouds caught on the dramatic peaks. One even sported a rainbow.
We soon pulled up to the Temple. Its graceful architecture—a blend of traditional Asian design and modern elements—created a harmonious presence that seemed to exist slightly outside the normal flow of time.
As I approached the main entrance, removing my shoes as custom dictated, I was greeted by a young monk in maroon robes.
“Welcome,” he said with a slight bow. “How may we assist you today?”
“I’m here to see Venerable Sonam,” I explained. “About an item left by Pearl Yamamoto.”
Recognition flickered in the young man’s eyes. “Please, follow me.”
He led me through the main sanctuary, where several people sat in silent meditation, and into a small garden courtyard. There, tending to a miniature rock garden with a small rake, was an elderly monk whose serene presence seemed to radiate calm.
“Venerable Sonam,” my guide said softly, “this visitor has come regarding Pearl Yamamoto.”
The elder monk looked up, his weathered face creasing into a smile. “Thank you, Tenzin.”
As the younger man departed, Venerable Sonam gestured for me to join him on a stone bench beside the rock garden. “You are Pearl’s friend,” he stated rather than asked.
“Yes,” I said. “My name is Kat Smith. Pearl is in the hospital, and her caregiver, Kawika Pali, sent me to retrieve something she left in your safekeeping.”
“The box of memories. Pearl has meditated here on and off monthly for twenty years. She told me someone might come with the key.” He studied me with surprising intensity for one so seemingly gentle. “Do you have it?”
I showed him the small key on its red cord. Sonam nodded again, apparently satisfied.
“Pearl is a woman who carries many burdens,” he said softly. “The weight of history, of justice delayed, of truth buried. She always returns to her path of revealing what has been hidden.” He rose with vigorous grace for his age. “The box is in our meditation room. Please, follow me.”
I followed the elder monk through a side door into a small, dimly lit room with cushions arranged in a circle on the floor. A simple altar stood against one wall, bearing incense holders, a small Buddha statue, and several photographs of what appeared to be previous temple leaders.
Venerable Sonam approached the altar and reached behind it, producing a wooden box similar to the crane one we’d found at Pearl’s house, though slightly smaller and carved with a different design—a lotus flower in full bloom rather than a flying crane.
“The lotus rises from the mud, pure and beautiful despite its origins,” he said, noting my interest in the carving. “Pearl chose this symbol for what this box contains.”
He placed the box in my hands with ceremonial care. “She said the contents would help right an old wrong, but might cause pain in the process.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling the weight of both the box and the responsibility it represented. “We’re trying to find the truth about what happened to Pearl and why.”
“Truth and justice are worthy pursuits,” the monk nodded. “But remember that they sometimes arrive with unexpected consequences.” With those words, he bowed slightly and gestured toward the door. “You may use this room to examine the contents if you wish. Privacy and peaceful reflection may be beneficial.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “For keeping this safe for Pearl.”
