Page 27 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)

“Truth and justice are worthy pursuits,” the monk nodded.

“But remember that they sometimes arrive with unexpected consequences.” With those words, he bowed slightly and gestured toward the door.

“You may use this room to examine the contents if you wish. Privacy and peaceful reflection may be beneficial.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “For keeping this safe for Pearl.”

“It was a small service for one who has given much to our community,” he replied simply, then left, sliding the door closed behind him.

Alone in the quiet meditation room, I sat cross-legged on one of the cushions and placed the lotus box before me. The key fit perfectly into a small lock on the front, turning with a soft click that seemed loud in the stillness.

The box opened to reveal contents quite different from the crane box.

Instead of a journal and maps, this one contained what appeared to be old photographs and letters, carefully preserved in tissue paper.

I lifted out the first photograph—a black and white image of a Japanese family standing proudly in front of a traditional garden.

The back bore a date: “Yamamoto Family, 1939.”

The next several photos documented what appeared to be the construction and operation of the Japanese garden that had preceded the internment camp on Pearl’s property. In one, a man I assumed was Pearl’s grandfather stood beside the crane statue that had been the centerpiece of the garden.

The letters were in Japanese, which I couldn’t read, though some had English translations attached.

They seemed to be correspondence between Pearl’s father and various officials after the war, documenting his efforts to reclaim the family property and seek justice for what had happened at the processing center.

While clearly of historical value, nothing in the box seemed to provide new evidence about the Santos-Akana conspiracy or direct proof connecting them to Pearl’s poisoning. It was an important historical archive, but not the smoking gun I’d hoped for.

Disappointed, I carefully replaced the items, wondering if I’d missed something. Pearl had called this “the other half of the truth,” suggesting it contained crucial information. Yet all I saw were historical documents that essentially confirmed what we already knew.

As I prepared to close the box, something caught my eye—a slight irregularity in the wood grain at the bottom of the interior. Looking closer, I noticed that what appeared to be the bottom panel didn’t quite match the side walls in color and texture.

“A false bottom,” I murmured, remembering Keone’s comment about the crane box being a Japanese puzzle box. This one likely had a similar hidden compartment.

I examined the box carefully, looking for any indication of how to access the secret space.

After several minutes of unsuccessful attempts, I noticed a small, almost invisible seam near one corner.

Pressing it yielded no result, but when I applied pressure to the opposite corner simultaneously, I heard a faint click.

The false bottom lifted slightly, revealing a hidden compartment beneath. Inside lay a single item: another key, larger than the one for the box itself, with a small tag attached. The tag bore a name and a number: “ First Hawaiian Bank, Box 722.”

A safety deposit box key. This had to be related to the box Lei was investigating at the bank! I quickly secured both the lotus box and the safety deposit key in my bag, then called Keone as promised.

“The temple box contained old photographs and letters, plus a hidden compartment with a safety deposit key for First Hawaiian Bank, Box 722. Is that the same box Lei is looking into?”

“Yes,” Keone confirmed, his voice tense with excitement. “Lei’s with the manager now. Apparently, someone tried to access Pearl’s box yesterday using fake identification. The manager got suspicious and refused access, then called Lei this morning when he made the connection to her case.”

“I’m on my way.” I was already heading for the door. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said, thanking Venerable Sonam with a quick bow as I hurried through the main sanctuary.

The drive to First Hawaiian Bank was supposed to take up to twenty minutes in a rideshare and took ten more to arrive, so I was later than I’d hoped.

The bank occupied a modern building in downtown, its glass and steel architecture a stark contrast to the traditional temple I’d just left. I knocked on the locked glass doors, and Keone let me inside, giving me a quick hug. “You’re just in time. Things are getting interesting. Follow me.”

I trailed his broad-shouldered silhouette through the unlighted lobby to the manager’s office, where I found Lei seated across from a nervous-looking man in his fifties whose shiny nameplate identified him as “Gregory Kwan, Branch Manager.”

“Glad you made it, Kat,” Lei greeted me. “Mr. Kwan was just showing us the security footage from yesterday’s attempted access.”

“And I have the key to Pearl’s safe deposit,” I said, producing the safety deposit key from my pocket.

Mr. Kwan’s eyebrows rose. “I haven’t seen that in a while. Ms. Yamamoto has maintained this box for over thirty years, with very infrequent access—only a few times in the past decade.”

“May I see the footage too?” I asked, taking a seat beside Keone.

Mr. Kwan turned his computer monitor so we could all view it.

The footage showed the bank’s safety deposit viewing area, where a man in a business suit was speaking with a bank employee. Though the angle wasn’t ideal, I immediately recognized the visitor.

“That’s David Santos,” I exclaimed. “The mayor’s son.”

“Kat had a run-in with him recently. He confronted Kat at the cultural center, and he’s been blocking Pearl’s permits for the Heritage Garden project,” Keone said.

“The documents he presented seemed authentic at first glance,” Mr. Kwan said. “Authorization from Ms. Yamamoto allowing her ‘nephew’ to access the box in her absence. But something felt off about the interaction. And when I asked for additional identification, he became agitated, then left.”

“What tipped you off?” Lei asked.

“Two things,” the manager replied. “First, I’ve known Ms. Yamamoto as a client for many years, and she’s never mentioned any nephew here on the island.

Second, the authorization document had yesterday’s date on it, but I knew from the news that Ms. Yamamoto has been hospitalized and is still alive. ”

“What happens now?” I asked. “Can we access the box with the key I found?”

Mr. Kwan looked uncomfortable. “Normally, we would require Ms. Yamamoto’s presence or a legally executed power of attorney.”

“Pearl is still out of commission, but let’s call Kawika!” I exclaimed. “He’s her POA and he asked me to find the box that held the key. He did that at Pearl’s request.”

It was only the work of a few minutes to get Kawika on video phone, showing his ID from his hospital bed and authorizing the opening of the box in Pearl’s stead.

After that, Mr. Kwan led us to the safety deposit vault, a secure room lined with metal doors of various sizes. Using a master key along with the one I’d found in the temple box, we opened Box 722—a medium-sized container that he placed on a private viewing table in an adjacent room.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said, leaving us alone with the steel container.

Lei lifted the lid, revealing several carefully organized items inside. On top was an envelope addressed simply “In Case of Emergency” in Pearl’s precise handwriting.

Lei opened it and read aloud:

“If you are reading this, something has happened to me. The contents of this box provide definitive evidence connecting the Santos and Akana families to historical crimes and ongoing corruption. The USB drive contains financial records documenting bribes disguised as consulting fees, alongside evidence of their joint attempts to acquire my property through both legal and illegal means. The recorded conversation was provided by a friend and it documents a meeting where both families discussed ‘removing obstacles’ to their development plans—with me specifically named as the primary obstacle. May justice finally be served. —Pearl Yamamoto”

Beneath the letter lay a small USB drive, a micro recorder, and a manila envelope containing what appeared to be property documents and financial records.

“This is it,” Keone said softly. “Proof of their corruption and conspiracy.”

Lei carefully bagged each item as evidence. “If we’re lucky. But I hope we are. With this, we can finally bring charges against both Akana and Santos.”

“But which one actually poisoned Pearl?” I frowned. “And who attacked Kawika?”

“The recorded conversation might tell us,” Lei said. “But we’ll need to analyze everything back at the station before drawing conclusions.”

As Lei finished securing the evidence, my phone rang with Kawika’s number flashing on the screen.

“Kawika?” I answered. “We got into the safe deposit box and it contains the kind of proof Lei needs to bring a case.”

“That’s good,” Kawika said, but his tone said something else wasn’t.

“Is everything okay?” I put the call on speaker so Lei and Keone could hear.

“Not exactly,” Kawika replied, his voice tense.

“I just had a visit from Mayor Santos himself. He claimed he was there to wish me well, but he spent the entire time fishing for information about what Pearl might have told me and where we are in the case. When he was leaving, he said something . . . disturbing.”

“This is Sergeant Texeira and you’re on speaker,” Lei rapped out. “Speak.”

“He said, ‘Tell Pearl when she wakes that the Heritage Garden was a mistake. The holes we dig to plant in can end up as graves.”

“He’s trying to intimidate you. This evidence we’ve just uncovered could end his career and possibly send him to prison,” I said.

“I’ll check in with the guard on Pearl’s door and make sure everyone is on high alert,” Lei said. She stepped aside to make the call.

“There’s something else,” Kawika said. “After Santos left, one of the nurses mentioned seeing someone matching David Santos’s description at the hospital yesterday morning—around four a.m., right before someone attacked me.”

“That would make sense,” I said. “I think David wears a sandalwood cologne, too. I smelled it when we had our confrontation at the community center. Stay safe.” We ended the call.

“Pearl’s secure,” Lei said. “No activity on her floor.” Keone told her the additional snippet Kawika had added.

Lei frowned. “More vague sightings. Still no hard evidence, though hopefully the contents of the safety deposit box give me what I need. Meanwhile . . . what do you think Akana’s role is in all this? ”

“Partner or pawn,” Keone said. “He’s connected through the business dealings and the Cultural Corridor project.”

“Let’s get back to the station and go through these materials,” Lei said.

“If we can establish a direct link between either Santos or his son and the poisoning or attack, we can make an arrest. Meanwhile, between his confrontation with Kat and being spotted in the hospital, I have enough to bring David Santos in for questioning.”

As we put away the empty box, Mr. Kwan returned with the necessary documentation for the evidence removal.

On our way to help Lei review the new evidence at the station, I mulled over what we’d uncovered so far.

Pearl had methodically created a web of evidence deposits: the crane box at her home altar, the drive and clues at the community center, the lotus box at the temple, the safety deposit box at the bank.

Each cache contained pieces of the puzzle, strategically placed to ensure that, even if one was discovered and removed, others would remain to tell her story.

It was the careful planning of a woman who knew she was in danger but refused to be silenced. Thanks to her foresight, we were closing in on the truth.

But would what we had be enough to bring any of these powerful players to justice—let alone rectify the past? “We have to try,” I whispered.