Page 25 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)

“Mom?” Keone said, as he picked up the phone and hit Speaker. “Everything okay?”

“No,” Ilima’s voice was tight with tension. “Someone just called my home phone. A disguised voice—you know, one of those nasty distorter things? They told me to drop out of the mayoral race if I ‘know what’s good for me and my family.’”

“Hi, Ilima. You’re on speakerphone,” I said as my skin prickled with alarm. “When exactly did this happen?”

“Less than five minutes ago,” Ilima said. “I tried calling Sergeant Texeira, but her phone went to voicemail. Neither of you were picking up your phones—again! That’s why I called your office.”

“Listen, Mom, this is serious. Is anyone with you?” Keone’s knuckles showed white where he leaned on them on the table. “I need to know you’re safe.”

“Your cousin Frankie is outside mowing. I’m fine.” Ilima sounded more annoyed than worried.

“I’m calling Lei right now,” I said. “In the meantime, stay home, keep your doors locked, and write down everything you remember about the call—exact words, background noises, anything distinctive about the voice even through the disguiser.”

“Already did that,” Ilima said. “But . . . this can’t be a coincidence, can it? With everything happening with Pearl and the investigation?”

Keone shook his head even as I said, “No. There’s actually been an escalation. Kawika was attacked at the hospital while watching over Pearl. They’re both under police protection now.”

Ilima gasped. “Is Pearl okay?”

“Yes, though still in the ICU,” I said. “It’s all connected. The Santos-Akana partnership is feeling the pressure from multiple directions.”

“What Santos-Akana partnership?”

“Things have been moving fast, Mom. I’ll catch you up,” Keone said. “It’s getting to be dinnertime—can Kat and I come by to eat, and catch you up in person?”

“Of course. I’ll put something on right away.”

“Meanwhile, stay safe, Ilima. Get Frankie to stay until we arrive,” I said.

After Keone ended the call, I immediately dialed Lei’s cell, using the direct number she’d given us for emergencies. To our relief, she answered on the third ring, her voice tired but alert.

“Kat? What’s happened now?”

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.

“Dang it.” I wasn’t going to be able to play lady of leisure after all; my brain was too busy. I slipped out of bed and into Keone’s robe, which hung on the back of the bedroom door. It was loose on me, but it was soft and carried his scent—a comforting blend of soap and man.

In the kitchen, I found Mr. K at the stove, flipping Portuguese sausage in a cast-iron skillet. A bowl of fresh papaya slices sat on the counter alongside a plate of toasted sweet bread.

“Morning.” Mr. K greeted me with a smile as he cracked eggs into the sausage grease. A whiff of fatty fabulousness hit my nose. “Coffee’s ready. Sleep okay?”

I stepped close to slip my arms around his waist and kiss his slightly bristly jaw. “You know I did. Thanks to a couple of rounds of physical therapy, as you called it.”

“And here I thought I was keeping you from developing traumatic memories of the bed breaking and dumping us on the floor,” Keone said.

“A noble effort.” I detached, and poured myself a cup of coffee, adding a splash of coconut milk from the refrigerator. I sniffed the air as Mr. K stirred the contents of the skillet. “And you already know, the way to this woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

“I’m working every angle,” he said. “Are you ready to move in yet?”

“Ha.” I smiled, settling onto a stool at the kitchen counter. Despite the stress of the case, this domestic moment felt surprisingly right—as if we were glimpsing what life might be like if I took the leap and moved in permanently. “Keep up the good work, babe. I’ll let you know.”

Keone transferred the sausage slices to a serving plate covered in paper towels. “Lei called while you were asleep. Kawika’s condition has improved. They’re talking about releasing him if his MRI looks good. Pearl’s improved too.”

“That’s good news,” I said.

“I got the impression Lei’s hoping we might talk to him. Says he’s been asking about the case.”

“Then we should visit him at the hospital. Pearl too,” I said. “I’d like to check on them both.”

“Sounds like a good activity for a Sunday. We can take the project plane into town again.” Keone set a plate of food in front of me: Portuguese sausage, eggs, papaya, and sweet bread toast—the perfect Hawaiian breakfast. “Lei also mentioned that the manager of First Hawaiian Bank left her a message. Something about Pearl’s safety deposit box. ”

“What safety deposit box?” I frowned.

“Apparently the manager recognized Pearl’s name from the news about her poisoning. When he heard she was hospitalized, he contacted Lei because of some recent activity involving her box.”

“What does that mean?” I spoke through bulging cheeks as I dug into the delicious breakfast.

“That’s what we’re going to find out when Lei does,” Keone said, joining me at the counter with his own plate. “She said they were meeting first thing Monday morning at the bank.”

“Too bad we’ve both got work or we could join her,” I said.

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of cutlery against plates and the distant crash of waves outside. It was a peaceful moment, like the calm at the eye of a hurricane—a brief respite before returning to the swirling chaos of our investigation.

“This feels nice,” I said quietly, not quite meeting his eyes. “Waking up here. Breakfast together, like this.”

Keone’s hand covered mine on the counter. “It could be like this more often, you know.”

“I know,” I acknowledged. “And I’m . . . working on it. Being here is a step in that direction.”

“A step at a time works for me.” He smiled, but his eyes were a little sad.

My heart flopped like a gaffed fish. I stopped the sensation with a mouthful of Portuguese sausage. “We better get going. This case isn’t going to solve itself.”