Page 18 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)
“She folds them constantly,” Opal said. “Hundreds, maybe thousands over the years. She gives them for special events, like weddings and graduations. Says each one carries a wish, a memory, or a truth that needs to be remembered.”
I felt a tingle of excitement. “Where does she keep them? The paper cranes, I mean.”
“All over,” Artie shrugged. “Her house, her classroom at the community center?—”
“The community center,” I interrupted. “In Ohia State Park? Where she teaches origami workshops? I knew about that.”
“She has a whole cabinet of supplies there. Paper in every color imaginable,” Opal confirmed.
“And finished cranes,” Artie added. “She lets the keiki take some home, but she keeps many of them there for her projects and gifts, too.”
My mind raced. Maybe Pearl had left something there—a hidden message? The missing evidence? I had to find out.
The community center was a former gym in the state park. It had recently been enlarged through local fundraising efforts, and was used for classes, events, and cultural demonstrations.
Most importantly, I had keys to it—Aunt Fae and I served as weekend caretakers for the park in return for rent, a position that mostly involved trash pickup on weekends, and making sure gates were locked and buildings secure after-hours.
“I need to check out that classroom,” I said, taking a hurried bite of my sandwich.
The flavors of Artie’s exceptional ahi creation exploded across my tongue, momentarily distracting my investigative instincts. “Oh man, that’s good.”
“Take your time,” Artie chuckled. “The cranes will wait for you.”
Opal reached into her pocket, her bracelets creating a melodic tinkling. “Before you go rushing off,” she said, “perhaps the runes can offer guidance.” She produced the small pouch she always carried with her.
“I’m not sure we have time for a full reading,” I said, battling a sudden urgency as I munched another bite.
“Just three,” she insisted, loosening the pouch’s drawstring. “For direction.”
Tiki, who had been grooming herself with single-minded focus, stopped and fixed her gaze on the rune pouch. Her attention seemed to confirm Opal’s suggestion.
“All right,” I agreed. “Three quick runes.”
Opal spread a silk cloth on the counter and gestured for me to draw three kukui nut shells from the bag. I did so, placing them in a row.
“Past, present, future,” she said, studying the symbols revealed.
The first curved, corrugated black shell bore what looked like an angular “P” shape. The second showed what resembled an “X” with the bottom right arm extended. The third displayed a simple vertical line.
Opal’s fingers hovered over each in turn. “Wunjo reversed,” she said, touching the first. “Joy inverted—a happiness that was stolen or corrupted. The foundation of this mystery lies in a joy that was transformed into sorrow.”
Her finger moved to the second shell. “Nauthiz—need, necessity, hardship endured. The present moment requires perseverance through difficulty. The truth is buried but fighting to emerge.”
Finally, she touched the third nutshell, and her eyes widened slightly. “Isa—ice, stillness, that which preserves. In the future position . . .” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Something preserved will reveal itself. A truth frozen in time.”
“The journal?” I guessed. “We know Pearl found her father’s journal recently.”
Opal shook her head. “Something else. Something hidden in plain sight.” Her gaze grew distant. “I see folded wings. Paper wings. The crane flies not with feathers but with truth.”
A chill ran down my spine despite the warm day. “The origami cranes,” I whispered. “She’s hidden something in the paper cranes.”
Tiki suddenly stood up on her cushion, stretched, and leapt to the counter, careful not to disturb the rune shells. She fixed me with an imperious stare that clearly communicated: Get moving.
“I need to go,” I said, wrapping the remainder of my sandwich. “Opal, Artie—thank you.”
“Take this,” Artie said, handing me a small paper bag. “An extra sandwich for Keone. Tell him it’s payment for fixing our generator last month.”
I accepted the bag, then turned to Opal. “Do the runes say anything else?”
Her pale eyes refocused on me, sharp and clear. “Be careful. The crane may fly, but a serpent can strike from hidden places.”
With that cheerful warning, I gathered my sandwiches and headed for the door. Tiki leapt down and followed, apparently deciding that her presence was required for this next phase of the investigation.
* * *
Back at the post office, Pua practically pounced on the sandwich I delivered. “You’re a lifesaver,” she declared, unwrapping it with reverence. “It’s been a madhouse here.”
I glanced around the conspicuously empty post office. “I can see that. Absolutely swamped.”
“Well, Mr. Kekoa came in with fifteen packages for his mainland grandchildren, and Mrs. Palaunu needed help filling out customs forms for her daughter in Japan.”
“Plus, that extra round of cleaning due to Tiki’s ‘gift,’” I said. “I get it. Listen, I need to take a longer lunch break. Something’s come up with the investigation.”
Pua’s eyes lit up with interest. “What kind of something? Does it involve more lock-picking?”
“No more breaking and entering for you,” I said. “I’m just going to check out the community center at New Ohia State Park. Totally legitimate—I have keys.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment was almost comical. I couldn’t help remembering how Keone and I had broken into the museum the night before. Yep, I was treading on some thin ethical ice with this one, and I might as well continue.
“I could use someone to cover for me here. Tell anyone who asks where I am that I’m doing a special postal inspection at the park.
Technically true, since I’ll be checking if Pearl received any mail at her classroom there.
Oh—and use the landline to call Sergeant Lei Texeira.
Tell her I have some new information for the case, and if she’s out on this side I’d like to catch up in person. ”
Pua brightened. “I can do that.”
I glanced around. “Where is Tiki?”
Pua pointed vaguely outside. “She slinked past right when you came back. Probably plotting her next rodent delivery.”
Knowing Tiki, she was more likely planning to meet me at the community center via whatever mysterious cat pathways she used to appear exactly where she was needed. I’d long since stopped questioning her uncanny access and timing.
“I’ll be back before closing or I’ll call,” I promised, grabbing my car keys. “And Pua? Thanks.”
She saluted with her sandwich. “Just doing my duty for truth, justice, and the postal service way.”
* * *
The New Ohia State Park was a swath of former pastureland at the edge of town.
I’d been a part of wresting it from the grip of a crime family, who had been developing the area as luxury homes.
Now it was a work in progress state park, featuring native Hawaiian plants, gentle hiking trails, and views of both mountains and ocean.
The community center sat near the entrance—a single-story building with a pool everyone could use.
I parked in the parking lot, noting that it was nearly empty on this weekday afternoon.
A few tourists wandered the nearby native Hawaiian healing garden Aunt Fae was helping develop with Josie as head.
The community center, a recent expansion on the original clubhouse building, appeared closed today, its doors locked and windows closed.
My caretaker’s ring jingled as I approached the main entrance, heavy with various keys for the park’s facilities. I found the right one and let myself into the community center, flipping on lights as I entered the cool, dim interior.
The center was divided into several classroom spaces and a ballroom/gallery that displayed rotating exhibits of local art and cultural artifacts.
Pearl’s origami class was held in the smallest room at the back—an intimate space with large windows overlooking the rise of the hill behind the park’s entrance.
I made my way to the room, footsteps echoing in the empty building. The classroom was neat and orderly, with low tables surrounded by cushions in the traditional Japanese style. Along one wall stood a large cabinet with dozens of small drawers—the type used in art studios to organize materials.
“This must be it,” I murmured, approaching the cabinet. A loud mew from behind me told me Tiki had followed me in. “Don’t know what you think you’ll find here, girl, but Aunt Fae and I have a pest control service keeping these buildings rodent-free.”
The drawers were labeled in Pearl’s precise handwriting: different papers organized by color, weight, and pattern. But it was the larger bottom drawers that caught my attention. These bore labels like “Completed Works – Spring Collection” and “Demo Pieces – Advanced Class.”
I opened the drawer marked “Personal Collection” and caught my breath.
Inside were dozens—perhaps hundreds—of expertly folded paper cranes in every imaginable color and pattern.
Some were tiny, barely larger than my thumbnail, while others were the size of my palm.
They were arranged in neat rows, each one perfect in its complex folds.
“She must have been folding these for years,” I said aloud, carefully lifting one to examine it. The paper was high-quality, and the crane was folded with such precision that every angle was crisp and clean.
But what struck me most was the weight. The crane felt slightly heavier than it should, as if something more than paper comprised its form.
Carefully, I began to unfold it, trying to minimize damage to the delicate paper. As the folds opened, I noticed tiny, precise handwriting covering the interior surface—dates, names, and what appeared to be monetary amounts.
“She wrote on them before folding,” I realized. “The cranes aren’t just art—they’re her documentation.”