Page 41 of Tiki Beach
The box didn’t have a conventional closure, but rather a clever wooden sliding mechanism that required a specific sequence to open. I examined it carefully, noting worn spots where fingers had pressed over many years.
“May I?” Keone asked, extending his hands.
I passed him the box. He turned it with his fingers exploring the mechanism with sensitivity. “It’s a Japanese puzzle box,” he explained. “My grandfather had one. You have to slide the panels in the right sequence.”
His fingers moved deliberately across the box, sliding small sections of wood in a pattern that seemed random to my untrained eye but clearly followed some internal logic. After some manipulation, there was a soft click, and the top panel shifted slightly.
“Got it,” Keone said, gently sliding the top open.
Inside, nestled in faded silk, lay a small leatherbound journal, its cover cracked with age and handling. Beside it was a folded document that looked like a map or diagram, and a small cloth pouch tied with a faded red cord.
“This is it,” I said softly. “Takeo Yamamoto’s journal.”
Keone carefully lifted the journal from the box, handling it with the reverence it deserved. He opened it to reveal pages filled with neat Japanese characters interspersed with sections in English.
“I can’t read the Japanese parts,” he said after a minute of scanning, “but the English sections seem to be Takeo’s observations about the processing center.”
I leaned closer, reading over his shoulder:
“August 12, 1942 - Tanaka-san confronted Santos today about the missing family ceremonial sword. Santos claimed all confiscated items were documented and would be returned after the war, but I have seen his private collection growing. When Tanaka-san demanded proof of documentation, Santos ordered him removed from the mess hall. Later, I heard shouting near the storage buildings. When I investigated, I saw Santos strike Tanaka and push him. He fell to the bottom of the loading dock stairs. When I called for help, Santos claimed he had fallen, but there was blood on Santos’s uniform cuff that he quickly covered.
Tanaka-san died an hour later without regaining consciousness.”
“This is direct eyewitness testimony of Felix Santos’s involvement in Tanaka’s death,” Keone said grimly. “No wonder the family was desperate to prevent this from coming to light.”
I continued reading the next entry:
“August 13, 1942 - During the confusion after Tanaka-san’s death, I managed to retrieve several items from Santos’s private collection in his office—a list of ‘confiscated’ valuables with their estimated worth, and Santos’s military ID which he lost during the struggle with Tanaka-san. I have hidden these items where they will be safe until they can serve as evidence of his crimes. If anything happens to me, this journal will guide my family to the truth.”
“The ID tag we found under the plumeria tree,” I said. “Takeo took it as evidence. But we didn’t find any list.”
“Maybe whoever was digging under the tree before us got it first,” Keone said. “Let’s see what else is in here.” He unfolded the document that had been stored alongside the journal.
It was indeed a map—a detailed drawing of the Yamamoto property showing the original Japanese garden, the processing center buildings that had been erected during the war, and various landmarks, including the plumeria tree. Small ‘X’ marks with dates appeared at several locations around the property.
I whipped out my phone and took photos of everything. “He buried evidence in multiple spots,” I exclaimed. “The ID tag was just one piece.”
“Look at this,” Keone said, pointing to a notation near what was now Pearl’s garden shed. “August 15, 1942 – Full inventory list and photographic evidence.”
“We need to check that location,” I said, excitement building. “If the full inventory still exists?—”
“It would prove systematic theft, not just isolated incidents,” Keone finished.
“And we could get those items back to the families who lost them,” I said.
“This box is a treasure trove of evidence,” Keone said, carefully returning the items to their places. “Not just about historical wrongs, but about the motive for Pearl’s poisoning.”
I closed the box reverently, the puzzle mechanism clicking back into place. “We need to get this to Lei immediately.”
“I’ll get an evidence bag and take it to the station once backup arrives,” Officer Mahelona said, reaching for his radio. “Something this important shouldn’t travel without proper security.”
As he stepped away, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Pua: “Ok, I did it again. I’m at your house. Aunt Fae and I steamed open Pearl’s letter. Seriously, you need to see this. Historical Preservation Society confirms grant for Tea Garden BUT it’s cc’d to Councilman Akana as project sponsor. Thought Ilima was sponsor? Something is weird here.”
I showed the message to Keone. “Why would Councilman Akana be listed as the project sponsor for Pearl’s garden? I thought Ilima was handling the political side of things.”
“Good question,” Keone replied, his expression thoughtful. “Akana is on Ilima’s campaign team, right? The third member alongside Pearl?”
“Yes, but he’s been pretty much in the background. We haven’t heard much about his involvement with the garden project specifically.” I typed a quick reply to Pua: “Hold the letter. Coming to see it soon. Don’t mention to anyone else.”
