Page 7 of Tiki Beach
Pua raised a brow at me, clearly restraining herself from commenting on my keen sense of the obvious.
I held the envelope out for her inspection. “Does the title ‘Keeper of Secrets’ mean anything to you?”
“That’s not a title we use at the Historical Society.” Pua came in beside me and tweaked the missive out of my gloved hand. She studied the card carefully, holding it aloft and backlit to try to see through the envelope, but the heavy paper was too thick. “Very dramatic.”
“Do you know if it’s used anywhere else?”
“If so, I’m not aware of it.” She shook her head.
“Since this card is addressed to her home, I’m going to set it aside and hold onto it for her,” I said. “Hopefully I can visit her in the hospital and deliver it in person.”
“And satisfy your curiosity,” Pua said. “They say curiosity killed the cat. And your name is?”
“Katherine,” I replied, zipping out of the sorting area to stash the envelope in the inbox on my desk. “And I’m keeping this safe for Pearl. Nothing more.”
Never mind how my fingers itched to get into that envelope . . .
3
The morning at the post office dragged on interminably. Even the unusual envelope couldn’t distract me from my growling stomach—or my worry about Pearl. By the time noon rolled around, I’d sorted what felt like half of Maui’s mail and was beyond ready for a lunch break.
“I’m heading next door,” I called to Pua, who merely nodded without looking up from her meticulous organization of certified mail receipts.
The short walk to Ohia General Store took all of thirty seconds, but it was enough time for the humid air to make my already questionable day-two hair situation even worse. I combed the mass of brown locks back with my fingers as I opened the door. The familiar bell jingled as I entered, bringing with it the comforting scent of Artie’s local-style beef stew—a reliable midweek special.
“Come for lunch, Kitty Kat?” Artie called from behind the counter. Despite being blind for many years, he navigated his domain with the confidence of someone who’d spent five decades in the same space. Using modern technology, he was even able to wait on customers single-handedly.
“It’s me, Uncle Artie,” I confirmed, making my way to the counter where a couple of vinyl-topped stools awaited. “And that stew smells like heaven.”
“Coming right up.” His weathered hands moved with practiced precision, ladling the thick stew into a ceramic bowl. “Opal said you might be stopping by today.”
“I had a premonition I’d see you.” As if summoned by her name, Opal emerged from the small stockroom, wearing a purple muumuu aglow with white hibiscus flowers. A black velvet scarf draped around her neck was fastened with an outrageously sparkly rhinestone unicorn that winked in the fluorescent lighting overhead. “Not that it was too far a stretch that you’d show up after all that went on yesterday.”
“Right? What a thing that was,” I agreed.
“How’s Pearl doing today?” Opal took a stool opposite me. The runes she carried in her pocket made a sound like a rain stick as she arranged her roomy dress.
“No change from this morning,” I said, accepting the bowl Artie slid across the counter with impressive accuracy. I dug into my stew. I only got a thirty-minute break, so I had to make it count. “She’s still in intensive care. Kawika says the doctors are cautiously optimistic.”
Artie shook his head slowly. “She’ll recover. Woman’s tougher than old leather.”
I was heartened to hear him say that; both Artie and Opal were a touch psychic, though in different ways. “That’s why the timing of her collapse doesn’t make sense,” I said. I waggled the spoon at him. “This stew is amazing, Uncle.”
“Secret’s in the timing,” he said with a wink that still worked despite his sightless eyes. “And in knowing when to leave well enough alone.”
Opal absently adjusted her unicorn pin, her pale blue eyes gazing at me intensely. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind besides Pearl’s condition.”
I swallowed a spoonful of stew before answering. “Pua Chang has been asking questions all morning. About the tea party.”
“That woman,” Opal clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “She’s my friend and I love her, but she’s always digging for gossip.”
“She mentioned Pearl talking about ‘making things right’ at some bridge game last week.” I studied Opal carefully. “And something feels off about the whole situation. I can’t stop thinking about Tiki’s reaction to that tea.”
Artie’s hands stilled on the counter. “Your cat’s got better instincts than most people I know.”
Opal jiggled the bag of runes in her pocket; they made a distinct dry rustling sound. “I’ve been thinking about it too, Kat. There was something . . . unusual about yesterday.”
“Like what?” I set my spoon down, giving her my full attention. “I need your impressions of things.”
