Page 23 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)

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.

Once inside the cozy, yummy-smelling kitchen area, Artie said, “Opal can deal with any stragglers out there.” He closed the connecting door to afford some privacy. “Must be serious.”

“It is,” Keone said. “We need information about Councilman Akana’s development plans. Specifically, anything you folks know about something called the Hana Cultural Corridor.”

Artie’s eyebrows shot up and he blinked rheumy eyes. “Now there’s a controversial topic. Councilman Akana’s been trying to get that project off the ground for years. Most locals are against it—too commercial, too much traffic for Hana and Ohia. But he’s persistent.”

“What exactly is he proposing?” I asked.

“A ‘cultural experience’ along the coast,” Artie explained, making air quotes around the euphemism. “Shops, restaurants, cultural demonstration areas—all designed to look ‘authentically Hawaiian’ while being commercial.”

“Where exactly would this corridor be located?” Keone asked. I suspected we both knew the answer.

“It would start just south of Pearl’s property and extend up the coast,” Artie confirmed.

“Originally, he wanted to include her land, but she refused to sell. That’s when he shifted to a partnership approach, trying to convince her that her Heritage Garden could be the ‘cultural anchor’ for the larger development, which would include the Santoses’ five-acre parcel she wants for the garden. ”

“And she agreed to this?” I asked skeptically.

“Ha!” Artie snorted. “Pearl was adamant that her garden would be a place of reflection and education, not a tourist trap.”

“So why is he listed as cosponsor on her historical preservation grant?” Keone asked.

Artie’s expression registered surprise, then he frowned. “Ah, now I see where this is going. Akana sits on the board of the Historical Preservation Society. He could have influenced the grant process, perhaps even modified the application.”

“Without Pearl’s knowledge,” I said. “Except someone issued her a letter disclosing it. That’s how we found out.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time Akana’s operated that way,” Artie said. “His development company, Anuenue Enterprises, has a reputation for aggressive tactics. They’ve bought up several properties along that stretch of coastline over the past decade, sometimes using questionable methods.”

“Questionable how?” I asked.

Artie glanced toward the door, lowering his voice further. “There have been rumors about properties experiencing ‘mysterious’ problems just before Anuenue makes an offer. Water line breaks, electrical issues, vandalism, even a stream drying up in a pasture.”

“Definitely sounds shady,” Keone said.

“There’s one more thing you should know. Anuenue Enterprises doesn’t operate alone. They have a financial partner that provides much of their capital—Santos Investment Group.”

The connection hit like a thunderbolt. “Mayor Santos’s family investment company,” I said. “Of course.”

“The Santos and Akana families have been business partners for decades. The mayor’s father and Akana’s father started working together in the 1960s, developing some of the first tourist accommodations in Hana.”

“That means we have two families with historical connections,” Mr. K summarized, “both with financial interests that would be threatened by Pearl’s garden project, both with motives for wanting to control or stop it.”

“And both with connections to the historical injustices Pearl was preparing to expose,” I added.

“I’m just sharing what I’ve heard,” Artie said, spreading his hands. “What you do with that information is up to you.”

“That’s why we came to you, Uncle Artie,” I said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “This helps a lot.”

We helped Artie carry a fresh pan of cornbread and hot pot of chili out to restock the lunch counter after hastily packing a ration for ourselves to take back to the shack to eat while we updated Lei.

“We need to look into Anuenue Enterprises and its connection to the Santos Investment Group,” Keone said as we neared the shack and set our lunch on the rickety table. “If Akana and the Santos family are business partners, they could both have motives for stopping Pearl’s project.”

“But which one poisoned her?” I wondered. “Or are they working together?”

“That’s what we need to find out,” Keone said.