Page 42 of Tiki Beach
I called Lei directly to brief her on what we’d found in the crane box. Her reaction was measured but optimistic. “This could be what we need,” she said. “The journal provides motive, and the map might lead us to even more evidence. Good work, both of you.”
“There’s something else,” I said, explaining Pua’s message about Councilman Akana being listed as the project sponsor on the historical preservation grant.
“Interesting,” Lei’s voice took on a thoughtful tone. “Akana’s been pushing for development in the area for years. His construction connections are well-known.”
“Could he have his own motives for wanting to control the Heritage Garden project?”
“It’s worth looking into,” Lei said. “Follow that lead. I have to focus on preparing for Mayor Santos’s interview. He’s not going to be happy to be called in; lawyers are bound to be involved.”
Backup arrived. The crane box was carefully logged as evidence, placed in a protective container, and taken away with the solemnity it deserved by Officer Mahelona and his partner.
“Let’s get to my house,” I said to Keone as we watched the police cruisers disappear down the driveway. “I want to see that letter myself.”
The house was quiet when we arrived. Aunt Fae and Pua sat in loungers out on the back deck. “Finally!” Pua exclaimed. “I’ve been sitting on this all morning. It came in yesterday’s late delivery.”
“Well hello to you, too,” I said, joining the two older women as Keone paused on his way to the kitchen to get us drinks. Tiki and Misty ambled out from under the potted palms to circle my ankles in greeting. “This looks comfy.”
“Except for the reason I’m here.” Pua produced an official-looking envelope with the Hawaii Historical Preservation Society logo from her Chanel bag. The letter had been opened—a fact I chose not to comment on, given my own recent adventures in ethical flexibility.
The letter was indeed a grant confirmation for the Heritage Tea Garden project, allocating $250,000 for the initial phase of plans development. What caught my attention immediately was the recipient line: “Project Sponsors: Pearl Yamamoto and Councilman Roger Akana.”
“Why is Akana listed as cosponsor?” I wondered aloud.
Keone had arrived with a tray bearing four glasses of lilikoi juice tinkling with ice. He set it down and we each grabbed one. I handed him the letter.
He read as I guzzled the tart-sweet drink. “Look at this paragraph: ‘As discussed in our meeting on May 15, the revised project scope will incorporate elements of the proposed Hana Cultural Corridor, creating synergy between the Heritage Tea Garden and future development projects in adjacent areas.’”
“Cultural Corridor?” I echoed. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“I have,” Pua said. “It’s Councilman Akana’s pet project. A planned development that would create a tourist-friendly ‘cultural experience’ along the coast, with shops, restaurants, and an exclusive thematic resort.”
Keone and I exchanged a glance. “Seems like Akana has been positioning himself to incorporate Pearl’s garden into his larger development plan,” Mr. K said.
“And without Pearl’s knowledge,” I added. “She’s been fighting for this garden as a memorial to internment victims, not as part of a commercial tourist attraction.”
“We need to know more about Akana’s connection to all this,” I said. “Pua, thanks for flagging this, even though it’s against regulations to have opened that letter, obviously. I’ve let Lei know he might be involved after you texted me. We have to be careful. Akana’s got a long reach, just like Santos. Let’s keep this between us. No coconut wireless updates, please.”
“My lips are sealed.” Pua was clearly thrilled to be part of the investigation. She made a zipping gesture beside her mouth, turning an imaginary key.
Keone checked his watch, a fancy thing with multiple dials, a compass, and an altimeter. I’d given it to him for his birthday and seeing it on his wrist still gave me a little ping! of happiness. “We should call Lei and update her soon, but I want to swing by the general store. If anyone knows the local gossip about Akana’s development plans besides you, Pua, it’s Opal and Artie.”
“Good thinking,” I agreed.
“Grab me some of their weekend malasadas while you’re at it,” Aunt Fae hollered at our departing backs.
“You got it!” I said over my shoulder.
“If we don’t eat them all first,” Keone said out of the side of his mouth, and I elbowed him affectionately.
Artie and Opal’s General Store was busy with the Saturday late lunch crowd when we arrived. The food service area was filled with tourists and locals enjoying lunch and buying drinks and ice cream. Opal held court near the crystal counter, apparently reading runes for a circle of brightly dressed tourists.
We waited for a break in the traffic and when it had cleared out a bit, we approached Artie. “Kitty Kat!” Even blind, Artie always seemed to be able to recognize me coming.
“Keone and I would like some malasadas,” I said.
“And some of your mana‘o wisdom,” Keone added.
“Malasadas are gone, but you can help me restock the chili and cornbread special and I’ll try give the other,” Artie said. We followed him into the back of the store, where a small pass-through storage room led into the Pahinui’s kitchen.
