Page 16 of No Time Off (Lexi Carmichael Mystery #15)
SIXTEEN
Lexi
T he sun had already begun to set, casting a golden glow over the island, when our driver, a quiet man in a gray suit, arrived in a dark sedan. He ushered us into the car, and we headed out for the prime minister’s house. Her home was on the same side of the island as our resort, so it was less than a ten-minute drive. We tried to engage the driver in conversation, but all we got out of him was one-word answers.
Ara Tapu on this part of the island was regularly lined with green hedges, limiting the view of the houses beyond. As the car slowed to turn off onto a side road, my nerves began to get to me. I’m an introvert by nature, so the thought of meeting with people I didn’t know, not to mention a prime minister, was more than a bit daunting. I had hoped that over time, meeting important people would get easier, given my close association with the president of the United States and the pope. But it never did.
Slash, understanding my anxiety, gently squeezed my hand, reassuring me in a way only he could. Trying to relax, I turned my attention to the view. We passed through several blocks of single-story, concrete houses. At the end of the road, a crushed-shell driveway led off to the left, lined with overhanging trees that hid both the path ahead and the house. The tires crunched on the driveway as we slowly approached the house, emerging back into the waning sunlight onto a circular drive that fronted a two-story, plantation-style house.
The white house with its brown roof had a veranda that ran the entire front. The house was adorned with large windows and a double front door. The bushes around the house were carefully trimmed and reflected a gardener’s care and an owner’s attention to detail. Behind the house and on the left side were fields of what looked like pineapple. On the other side, the land rose sharply to the green slopes of Te Manga.
The driver pulled up in front of the house and stepped out of the car to open our door. He offered a hand, and I climbed out. Slash followed.
“Welcome,” a booming voice said from the house’s entrance. A man with rich brown skin and a closely cropped haircut walked over to meet us. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit and an ocean blue tie.
“I’m Rangi Taufua, personal assistant to Prime Minister Askari,” he said, stretching out a hand to us. “It is a pleasure to have you at the house. You honor us tonight by being here. The entire nation is grateful for your actions yesterday, which saved the life of our prime minister.”
Slash tried to keep it light. “I’m just happy to have been in the right place at the right time.”
“It’s no coincidence,” Rangi said in a somber tone, shaking Slash’s hand and then mine. “It was destiny, I’m sure of it. Now, please, follow me. The prime minister and her family await you.”
Slash and I exchanged a glance as we entered the house. I stopped at the threshold, admiring the simple beauty of the interior.
While the house wasn’t palatial, it reflected a blend of elegance and cultural richness. Rangi gave us a quick tour as we walked along.
“This house was originally built by a wealthy British businessman and farmer who relocated from New Zealand in the early 1900s. This area had some of the best arable land on the island, and he used it to grow and ship fruits that weren’t viable in the colder New Zealand climate. He was successful enough to be appointed the king’s representative for the Cook Islands, which were still a part of New Zealand.
“The house turned over several times since then, before Ms. Askari and her family acquired it. They have worked to keep up its heritage on the island.”
Polynesian art and sculptures were tastefully displayed, each piece telling a story of the islands’ rich heritage. When we reached the dining room, we found the prime minister standing, waiting with her family. A tall man with dark hair and graying sideburns stood beside her, as well as a teenage girl and a young boy. The kids watched us with curious eyes.
“Lexi, Slash, it’s so nice to see you again. Thank you for coming.” The prime minister stepped forward and greeted us warmly, her smile genuine.
“It’s our pleasure, Prime Minister,” Slash said. “We hope you didn’t go to too much trouble on our behalf.”
“Please call me Petra. And this is hardly repayment for saving my life, but I’d like you to meet my husband, Henry, and my children, Leilani, or Lani for short, and Noa, my son.”
I had several burning questions on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to ask her about the assassination attempt, including how she was feeling, whether they’d gotten any useful information from the assassin, and if the attempt was related to the Chinese. But I didn’t ask because of the kids. I didn’t know how much they knew, and discussing the attempted murder of their mother didn’t seem appropriate dinner conversation. A glance at Slash and a tiny shake of his head confirmed he, too, had decided now was not the time to bring up the topic. Hopefully there would be an opportunity to discuss later.
“That’s a beautiful pin on your lapel,” Slash said to Petra, and I followed his gaze to a large, sparkling red, yellow, blue, and white pin. “What does it symbolize?”
She smiled proudly. “It’s the coat of arms of the Cook Islands. The blue shield and circle of stars are a part of our flag, with the fifteen stars representing the number of islands we have. The fish to the left of the shield is our famous maroro , a flying fish, and it’s supporting the momore taringavaru , which was a club used by orators during traditional island debates.”
She then pointed at what looked like a yellow bird with wings outstretched. “This is the kakaia , a small seabird that represents Christianity and is shouldering a red cross. As you can see, the fish and the bird are holding up a yellow banner that reads ‘Cook Islands.’”
“What’s the fuzzy red ball above the shield?” I asked.
“It’s the pare kura helmet,” she answered. “It’s a traditional headdress made of red feathers, and it symbolizes the rank system our island had for many years. It’s long been tradition for this pin to be presented to each prime minister of the Cook Islands in a special ceremony and passed down. It is my honor and privilege to wear it.”
“It’s stunning,” I said, and Slash agreed.
We strolled around the room, admiring the paintings on the walls and making some small talk. The decor was lovely and tasteful. A long table was set with exquisite plates and crystal glasses—the centerpiece a vibrant display of tropical flowers. The dinner aroma was intoxicating, a tantalizing mix of local delicacies and fresh island fruits. My stomach growled loudly, and I flushed, making my cheeks even more noticeably red given the sun I’d had today.
Rangi disappeared, and we finally took our seats, me next to Slash, thankfully. My earlier nerves melted a bit in the face of the Askaris’ genuine hospitality. As the first course was served, a salad and a lovely white wine, Petra raised her glass in a toast, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow over the table.
“To new friends,” she said.
“To new friends,” we echoed, lifting our glasses. The kids lifted their water goblets and the young boy, Noa, gave me a shy smile.
Lani, with her long, dark hair neatly braided and her eyes sparkling with intelligence, leaned forward slightly. “So, what is it like living in the United States?” she asked Slash, her voice a mix of excitement and formality. “Is it as big and busy as it looks on television? Do you get to see celebrities all the time?”
I guessed she was somewhere between twelve and fourteen years of age, and apparently not immune to Slash’s charm, because she blushed as she asked the question. Henry, Petra’s husband, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, letting Slash take the reins.
Slash smiled. “It can be very busy, especially in the big cities like New York or Los Angeles. But there are also many beautiful places that are quiet and peaceful, like our national parks and countryside. But you rarely, if ever, see a Hollywood or music celebrity unless you go to a concert or a Broadway show.”
I heard pride in his voice, and it occurred to me he loved his adopted homeland as much as it loved him.
“Really?” She seemed disappointed. “But you have so many magazines about famous people—I was sure that they must be everywhere in the big cities.”
“Do you have lots of superheroes?” Noa piped up eagerly. “You know, like in the movies?”
“Not exactly, but we do have a lot of people who do amazing things,” Slash responded, clearly amused. “Scientists, doctors, and teachers. They might not wear capes, but they’re heroes in their own way.”
Lani jumped back in. “Do you have big celebrations like we do here? With lots of food and dancing?”
“We do, especially during holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the Fourth of July,” he said. “There’s a lot of food, parades, and sometimes fireworks. But I suspect your celebrations are just as colorful and lively.”
Lani smiled, her gaze drifting to the long table filled with local delicacies, from fresh seafood to the famous coconut pie. “We do love our celebrations. And our food.”
The conversation remained light, and the meal was every bit as delicious as Petra promised. We ate an island specialty called ika mata , which Petra explained was fresh-caught fish marinated in lemon juice and smothered in coconut cream, onions, and chilis. Slash loved the grilled maroro , and I particularly enjoyed the steamed taro leaves called rukau .
After finishing off the meal with coffee and coconut pie, the kids were released and ran off to do whatever kids on the Cook Islands did. Curious, I asked Henry, and he told me they were off to play on their cell phones or video games. I guess life with teens and preteens in the Cook Islands was about the same as in the US.
“I’d like to invite you to adjourn to our library for what I promise is an excellent brandy and a few more minutes of engaging conversation,” Petra said. “Oh, and I apologize for Lani carrying on about celebrities. She is, as are many young teens, a tabloid and movie fanatic. She’s convinced she’s destined to meet a famous person and get her picture taken with them—that if she can get a unique photo of a true celebrity and post it on Instagram, it’ll go viral and all her dreams will come true.”
“But you’re the prime minister of a country,” I pointed out. “Isn’t that famous enough for her?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Petra answered. “I’m just her mom, who embarrasses her way too often.”
We all laughed and followed her out of the dining room. Once we reached the library, Henry opened the door for us. Just then, the house phone rang, and Henry went to answer it. We used the time to examine the numerous shelves of books. Petra had an extensive collection of history, political science, fiction, and biology titles.
“Are all of these yours?” I asked Petra.
“The biology books, yes. Oh, and the fiction books as well. I love a good mystery. The others belong to my husband. He was a professor in international relations at Oxford before joining me here.”
“How interesting,” I said. “Is he still teaching?”
Petra laughed. “Unfortunately, no. He’s a farmer at heart and will be the first to tell you he likes plants a lot more than students.”
We laughed and sank into lovely, overstuffed chairs just as Henry returned.
“The dinner was delicious,” Slash said as Henry sat in a chair near his wife. “Thank you for inviting us. I hope you’ll share our appreciation with the chef.”
“I certainly will,” Henry responded. “But I can’t help but feel it’s a small gesture in comparison for saving my wife’s life.”
“A life in politics is not for the fainthearted,” Slash commented. “I commend you for your service, Prime Minister. How long do you serve before you are up for reelection?”
“Thankfully, I don’t have to run for election,” she responded. “I’m appointed. I don’t know how much you know about our government here, but our constitution is quite different from yours. Our constitution reflects our historical connection as a territory of New Zealand, which was itself a colony of England. When we negotiated our independence from New Zealand in 1965, we retained many close ties to them that are embedded in our constitution. Technically, we’re a self-governing country in free association with New Zealand. We’re fully responsible for our internal affairs, while New Zealand retains responsibility for external affairs and defense—in consultation with us, of course.”
“Fascinating,” Slash said, steepling his fingers together. “And quite unique.”
“Yes,” Petra said. “ Unique is a good word for it. You might be surprised to know our constitution declares our head of state is the king of New Zealand who, by New Zealand law, is the reigning king or queen of England.”
She must have seen the surprised look on my face, because she nodded. “Yes. Technically, our head of state lives ten thousand miles away.”
“How easy is it to get things done with that situation?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Well, the king appoints the king’s representative for the Cook Islands to oversee our government on behalf of the king. Technically, the king’s representative is the de facto head of state, though he or she does no actual governing. They just appoint people, like me, the prime minister, to run the executive branch for a five-year term or until the Parliament loses confidence in the government.”
“That is an unusual arrangement,” Slash said. “How are you accountable to the people?”
“There are two ways. First, I can be removed by the king’s representative if he or she decides I’m not looking out for the people’s best interests. Second, the prime minister must be an elected member of Parliament to be eligible to be selected prime minister. So, if I’m not reelected to Parliament, or I resign from Parliament, I’m out.”
Slash and I sat digesting that information for a bit before I spoke.
“It’s hard to get my head around all the restrictions and ramifications of your government,” I said. “Given all that, why someone would want to assassinate you?”
Henry leaned forward and spoke quietly. “You must understand that my wife has ruffled a few important feathers. In recent years, a small group of wealthy men have basically traded the key government positions in the Cook Islands of king’s representative, prime minister, and deputy prime minister amongst themselves. They would work with their contacts in far-off England to have one of them appointed as the king’s representative, who would then appoint the others. When the king’s representative’s term was up, they’d get one of the others appointed in his place. However, things recently changed, when the new king appointed a woman as the king’s representative, and she appointed my wife. That has upset some very entrenched interests, as you may imagine, especially when she selected a new slate of ministers, who have been questioning some prior government commitments.”
“Chinese influence,” Slash immediately said.
“Yes, that’s certainly an important one,” Petra responded. “But I also want to know where all the money we’re making from the offshore banking is going.”
“Don’t you have a government finance minister or something like that?” I asked.
“Yes, but it’s taking time,” Petra responded. “Previous administrations have been quite lax about ensuring our share of the transactions is actually remitted to the government. Trust me, this is a system ripe for corruption, and I’m not going to stand for it.”
“Somebody is clearly unhappy with your efforts,” Slash commented. “So, what’s next?”
“I’m not sure, but let’s turn the discussion to more pleasant matters.”
We spoke for a few more minutes about inconsequential matters until Henry left, saying he had a few personal matters to which he needed to attend. The prime minister closed the door after him and proceeded to pour us all snifters of brandy.
After she’d given us ours, she took her glass and sat in a chair opposite us. She took a sip and then set her glass down on a coaster. “May I be honest with you? Both of you?” she asked rather abruptly.
I glanced at Slash and saw his left eyebrow raise slightly. “Of course,” he said.
“I asked you to come to the library because this room and my office are the only two spots in the islands that I’m certain are bug-free. And I’d like to speak frankly with you.”
The fact that she openly suspected her home was being bugged surprised me. But it wasn’t my place to ask about it, so I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “What would you want to discuss with us?”
She sighed. “I hope you forgive me, but I admit to having a friend, a former intelligence officer in New Zealand, run a check on both of you before dinner tonight, and I can’t say I’m surprised at what I found.”