Page 47 of Tiki Beach
I quickly explained about the threat to Ilima. Lei’s exhaustion seemed to evaporate as she processed this new escalation.
“I’ll have Hana PD do a sweep by her house,” she said. “And let’s see if we can trace that call, though if they used a voice disguiser, they probably took other precautions too.”
“It has to be connected to Santos and Akana,” I said.
“I agree,” Lei said. “But proving it is another matter.” Lei’s frustration was evident even over the phone. “The evidence from the crane box is compelling but historical. The data from the drive is . . . inconclusive, unless we can connect it to something criminal. We’re still building the case for the modern corruption and trying to find a physical connection to Pearl’s poisoning.”
“And now, let’s add threats against a mayoral candidate,” I said.
“Right now, we need to focus on keeping Ilima safe and finding evidence that connects Santos or Akana to these threats,” Lei said.
We ended the call and locked up the shack, leaving the broken bed in disarray on the floor.
“I’ll fix that later,” Keone said. “What else are Sundays for? Now for the big question: your vehicle, mine, or both?”
If we took one vehicle, I’d end up at his place for the night—and that was just fine with me.
“Yours,” I said. “You can bring me back with the tools to fix the bed tomorrow. Now let’s get rolling to your mom’s.”
“I like where this is heading,” said Mr. K with one of his patented twinkles, and dang if my heart didn’t do one of those silly bebops romance novels talk about.
My phone pinged as we pulled out of the parking lot with a text from Lei: “Call to Ilima was traced to payphone near county building. Officers checking security cameras now.”
I read the message to Keone, who was navigating a hairpin turn as we headed for Hana. “A payphone? Who even uses those anymore?”
“Someone who knows cell phones are easily traced,” Keone said. “The county building is right next to Santos’s office.”
“Pretty brazen to make the call from there, though,” I said. “It’s practically leaving a signature.”
“Or it’s meant to look that way,” Keone said. “What if this is another attempt to create obvious evidence pointing to Santos?”
As we drove and hit a corner with cell service, another notification popped up on my phone—a news alert from the Maui Sentinel app: “Breaking News: Mayor Santos Announces Heritage Tea Garden Project ‘On Hold Pending Review’.” I opened the article to find a press release issued by the mayor’s office, stating that due to “concerns about historical accuracy and potential environmental impact,” the Heritage Tea Garden project would be placed on indefinite hold pending a comprehensive review by Maui County authorities.
“He’s making a move,” I said, summarizing the article for Keone. “With Pearl hospitalized, Santos is using his authority to block the garden project, and I’m sure his son David is the neck turning the head on this one.”
“Damage control,” Keone agreed. “He’s trying to buy time, maybe permanently shelve the project before the evidence in Pearl’s journal becomes public. He and Councilman Akana probably have a plan to take over the whole project for their tourist trap.”
“We can’t let him get away with this,” I said, anger building. “Pearl and her family have waited long enough for justice, and she’s fought hard for this garden—which will benefit the whole community.”
“Between the journal, the financial records, and now the escalating threats, we’re building a case he won’t be able to escape,” Keone said.
Sadly, I wasn’t so sure. Powerful people often got away with things lesser mortals wouldn’t dare.
Sunday morning found me waking in unfamiliar surroundings, momentarily disoriented until I registered the sound of waves breaking on the shore outside, and remembered I was at Keone’s cottage. I stretched, smiling as I spotted the bedside clock, which read 8:15 AM.
I’d slept in, past when the feline alarm clock in my life would allow. “Ha, Tiki. You can’t wake me up here.”
I smelled the fragrance of fresh Kona coffee and heard Keone moving around in the kitchen; if I played my cards right, I might even get breakfast in bed.
I rolled onto my side and shut my eyes—but found myself going over the evening’s events instead of drifting off.
Ilima had been in feisty mode when we arrived at her house, stomping up and down and waving her spatula as she declared war on Mayor Santos. We had eaten dinner with her and filled her in on developments. The Red Hats and her campaign manager had arrived before our dishes could be removed from the table; she’d mustered the troops for a campaign planning session.
We were able to escape to Keone’s next-door cottage after that, where Lei called to let us know that street security footage from near the payphone showed a figure in a hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap—impossible to identify with certainty, though the build suggested a man of average height.
Mayor Santos, meanwhile, had doubled down on his decision to halt the Heritage Garden project, giving an interview to an Oahu TV station in which he expressed “deep concern about rushing into a project with historical implications without proper vetting. Valuable properties like the ones involved would be better used to bolster the local economy.”
Councilman Akana had been standing at the Mayor’s side throughout the whole thing; together they were advancing their agenda for the tourist trap corridor.
