Page 18 of Pau Hana: Cat cozy Humor Mystery (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery Book 5)

When I got backto Ohia, I went into the K K office. I fixed myself a cup of tea, took a pain pill (my ribs were calling for a nap, STAT) and phoned Lei. “I got a sketch of the hermit girl’s face from Doug Beachum,” I said baldly.

A pause—I heard that whoosh of breath that meant Lei was blowing that curl up off her forehead. “How did that come about?”

“Well, I have a little time off due to falling and getting some cracked ribs, so I thought I’d use it to dig into the investigation,” I said. “I called Beachum and took him to lunch at Bruddah Hutt’s. He admitted he felt pressured and under the gun with you guys, so he changed his story. He’s willing to go on record with it now.”

“Okaaaaayyyy,” Lei said. “Tell me about this sketch.”

“I had a class in sketching once when interviewing a witness. Part of my Secret Service training. I’m no artist or expert, but it turns out he remembered more about the girl than he thought he did. Do you want the sketch?”

“No. But I’ll get it from you later to compare after I contact our department ID artist and have her reach out to Beachum,” Lei said. I heard the keys of her keyboard rattling; she was probably emailing as we spoke. “There are other powers that be that I’ll have to contact, too. I’m actually no longer on the case.”

“But I had an additional thought about the girl in the hermit’s window,” I said. “Who she might be.” Lei’s silence told me all I needed to know about how interested she was in hearing my thoughts on the matter. I pressed on. “Can you give me a list of reported runaway girls? Especially young ones, like twelve and under?”

“Kat, the MPD has given me direct orders to stand down on this case. The feds are involved now since the bombing, and anything I do alone regarding this matter would be considered insubordination.”

“I’m only asking for a list of runaway girls.” I squared my jaw. “You don’t have to tell them you gave it to me.”

“I’m afraid the answer is ‘no.’ Is there anything else?”

“I guess not.” Lei wasn’t the only one who could sound frosty.

We ended the call. She hadn’t even thanked me for the lead on Beachum. Our friendship was heading toward a breakup like a ship toward a reef.

Of course, that wasn’t going to stop me and there was more than one way to skin a mango. I wasn’t done mixing my metaphors, either.

* * *

At dinner that evening,I filled Aunt Fae in on my meeting with Doug Beachum and my subsequent strikeout with Lei Texeira.

“More than one way to skin a cat,” said Aunt Fae.

“I prefer ‘skin a mango,’” I said, glancing under the table to where Tiki sat alertly at my feet, waiting for whatever tiny scrap might fall. Good thing she wasn’t proficient in English. “Be careful what you say,” I said. “You didn’t know her when she was feral, but trust me, Tiki can slice and dice.”

Aunt Fae shook her head. “All I’m saying is, can’t you get what you need from someone else?”

“You’re right. Now that I think of it, didn’t Rita Farnsworth work for the Maui School District before she retired?”

Rita was one of the newest members of the Ohia Red Hat Society. She’d built a cat sanctuary on her property for strays and had been helpful in a case I’d worked, recovering a valuable lost cat. She and I had gotten along well. Even if she couldn’t help me get the information I needed, she might know someone who could.

“Yes, I remember her saying she’d been in education,” said Aunt Fae. “I’m playing Bunco with her and a few of the other Red Hat gals tonight. How do you think she could help?”

“I’ll bet the schools keep records of kids who are truant. You know, poor attenders. Who could also turn out to be runaways.”

I was too pain-riddled to attend the downstairs Bunco tournament and went to bed early, but Aunt Fae talked to Rita on my behalf.

It turned out, Rita hadn’t just worked at the school district, she’d been the head of curriculum and instruction for the county. That was like being the offensive line coach of a football team. Next to the school district superintendent, hers had been one of the most influential positions in the whole bureaucracy. She was bound to have access to the information I needed.

* * *

I called Rita Farnsworth,cat whisperer, early the next morning after getting the deets on her position from Auntie over coffee.

“It’s been a while since I worked with the school system. I’ve been retired for some time,” Rita said, when I phoned her with my request for a list of truant elementary school girls.

“I understand, but I’d appreciate any help you can offer with my case.”

“We’re having a Red Hat soiree tonight at Edith’s place. Why don’t you join us, and we can talk about what you want to know, and why, in person? That is confidential information. I have to know why you need it.”

“Of course,” I said, though I inwardly sighed. I’d been made an honorary Red Hat member some months ago when I’d managed to keep Edith Pepperwhite from meeting her Maker before her time. I enjoyed partying with the older ladies now and then. “But I’m off work for medical reasons this week. It might not be good for me to be seen out socializing.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re not working because you’re under doctor’s orders not to do any heavy lifting after your fall,” Rita said. The scope of personal details available on the coconut wireless never failed to amaze me. “And you’re in luck,” she went on. “Because the only lifting you’ll be doing this evening is a wineglass.”

“Okay, then. See you tonight.”

I ended the call and checked my phone’s calendar. I’d almost forgotten that Keone and I were scheduled to be out at Sophie Smithson’s client’s house in Hana at ten a.m. that morning. I groaned and got up to get dressed; I needed a pain pill as well as food before I hit the road.

Keone and I had agreed to meet three contractors who were coming out to prepare bids for a bathroom remodel at the client’s house. I stuffed down my annoyance at the task; the client seemed to be implying that the bonded and licensed professionals who’d be showing up at his mansion were not only untrustworthy, but potential thieves. Not only that, the place already had a full-time caretaker on the premises.

But I didn’t have a choice on whether to take the assignment. I’d agreed to assist Security Solutions whenever possible when they had something out this way, and it’d been weeks since I’d been asked to do anything.

Keone didn’t have to be there, but he’d been extra solicitous since I’d taken my tumble, texting me several times in the last day and night. He didn’t let on that he’d traded a few flights to be with me that day, but I’d heard about it from Auntie, who heard from Opal, who’d heard from Keone’s aunt, who’d heard from Pono, and that’s how news got around out here.

Keone met me at the K K office and we took Sharkey out to the estate. The guy’s place was a palace inside a paradise inside a bubble of money that mere mortals like me could only imagine living in.

The grounds were impeccable—wide, impossibly green lawns bordered by a profusion of tropical trees and flowers. There was a greenhouse out behind the house, probably full of orchids and costly exotic species, but we didn’t take time to check it out.

The mansion itself was built of what appeared to be mahogany or teak or some other precious rainforest wood. Seems the dude could care less that the Amazon Basin and the jungles of Southeast Asia were being deforested at an alarming rate as long as he had a nice setting in which to store his priceless art. A peaked roof soared thirty feet above the floor, with windows that had a one-eighty view of Hana Bay.

The ocean was ten shades of azure, from midnight to the palest baby blue, with a few whitecaps near the horizon. An immense white yacht motored by while I was taking in the scenery. I couldn’t help wondering if the homeowner, or one of his celebrity neighbors, might be on it.

The home’s art collection rivaled something you’d find in a modern art exhibit in a city the size of Honolulu, Seattle, or Dallas. My art education had only included a survey course my freshman year and then an “Art of 20th Century America” course I took to nab the last few credits needed for graduation, but even I could recognize many of the names scrawled in the bottom corners of the paintings.

Keone checked in each contractor and verified their licenses and IDs, then kept watch at the main entrance as I trailed the professionals through the house and across the grounds while they took measurements and worked their phones and calculators.

The whole enterprise took two hours. Keone seemed preoccupied as we walked back to the car for the drive back to Ohia. We’d taken Sharkey, since I stuck the magnetic Security Solutions logo on the side and we were on official business, but Keone was driving because by then I was exhausted and my ribs were throbbing. I couldn’t wait to recline the seat and rest. Besides, if I’d had to brake hard or swerve out of the way of an oncoming tourist who’d crossed the center line, I wasn’t sure my mummified torso could manage it.

We pulled away from the client’s circular driveway and exited the automatic gate with Keone wearing a scowl reminiscent of Tiki when I run out of kibble.

I glanced at Keone’s dark expression as he drove. “That was so boring. Two hours of our lives we’ll never get back,” I said. “Everything okay?”

“It’s not that. I’ve been putting off telling you this because I don’t like to kick you while you’re down,” he said. Uh-oh. Just the thought of being kicked anywhere on my achingly bruised body made me wince. “Sorry, bad cliché.” He reached over and squeezed my hand.

“Ok. What is it?” I said. “Lay it on me.”

“I’m on a short list for a promotion at work.”

“What’s wrong with that? Sounds great.”

“It could be. But the timing isn’t the best.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I get it, they want me to get certified on the bigger commuter jets. I’ll need to go to Honolulu for training. And then . . .” he glanced at me. “They might want me to move away.”

“Ohhh.” The air leaked out as if I were a deflating balloon.

“Yeah. I hate to leave, even short-term, while you’re injured and you’re worried over . . . well, you know.”

“You can’t let my problems hold you back, Keone. I’ll heal, whether you’re here with me or in Honolulu doing flight training,” I said, wiggling in my seat to try to get more comfortable. “And if you have to move, well . . . we’ll figure it out.”

He smiled; relief softened his expressive eyes. He’d really been worried about what I thought of his opportunity. “It may not come to anything. I’m flying to Honolulu for an interview on Monday, so we’ll see how it goes.”

We rode the rest of the way back to the K K office in silence. I said I’d write up the report for Sophie and call it a day. My damaged ribs were screaming for rest and a pain pill, but I didn’t want to take one until I was home in bed.

“Want me to stick around and drive you home?” Keone said.

“Thanks, but I can handle it. I appreciate you coming out here today, though. We looked spiffy as a team.” We’d both worn the white polos and black pants we put on for our K K cases, too. “After all, I’m the one who’s benefiting by having Sharkey at my disposal. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.” I assumed we wouldn’t get together again in the next couple of days; I wasn’t up to much at the moment.

“How about a kiss?” Keone asked, as I unlocked the office door.

I turned and he took me by the shoulders, staying away from my injured ribs. I let myself get a little lost in the moment; it was all we’d be able to enjoy with this injury, and the threat of his departure had cast a pall over both of us. Our kiss had a touch of desperation to it; we ended with a honi, the Hawaiian exchange of breath, our foreheads resting against each other, our eyes closed as we shared the moment.

Dang it. I was really getting attached to this guy. Was it wrong to hope he didn’t get the promotion? Yep, it was.

“I’ll be in touch,” Keone said. He squeezed my shoulders in farewell and left to get into his truck.

He drove off and I typed up the one-page report indicating all had gone smoothly at the art estate. I texted Sophie to alert her to a successful mission and let her know the report had been sent by encrypted email; she called when she received my notification.

“How are you feeling, Kat?” she asked in her crisp as a new five pound note British accent. “I heard you’ve had a bit of trouble over there.”

Unaware of just how much Sophie knew, I played it safe. “Doing much better, thanks.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not as chipper as you claim to be?” Not much got by Ms. Sophie Smithson.

I hesitated to fill her in with my distress over the thought of Keone leaving, and the ongoing flashbacks every time I remembered what’d happened to the girl in the window. “Just tired. My cracked ribs are making it hard to get a good night’s sleep.”

“I can imagine,” she said. “Thanks ever so much for handling this today. I know it was a bit onerous, but I appreciate you stepping in.”

“It was nothing. And I want you to know, I’m taking good care of Sharkey.”

Sophie started to say goodbye, but I interrupted as I remembered something. “I’m sorry to cut you off, but I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything I can do.”

“Thanks. I’m thinking of seeing someone about my . . .” I hesitated to finish the sentence. Sophie knew all about my touchphobia and how it had affected my life during my time with the Secret Service, but it was still difficult to say “mental health” or any of its alternatives.

“Yes. Go on. It sounds like you’re seeking a referral of some sort.”

“I am. I’m struggling with . . . insomnia. And it’s not just because of my injury. I think I might benefit from talking to someone about it.”

“Insomnia. Yes. We have an excellent psychologist that we work with here at the firm named Dr. Kinoshita. She’s brilliant when it comes to getting to the root of a situation. And extremely discreet. Would you like her number?”

Did I really want her number? No. But did I need it? A definite maybe. “I’d appreciate that, Sophie.”

“Excellent. I’ll put the referral through as part of your employment package. You’ll hear from her office within the week.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I gulped down my apprehension. It was only therapy. I’d survived that before—along with politics in Washington, an IED attack, and a few attempts on my life. I could get through therapy, too.