Page 28 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)

The Kahului Police Station was quiet on a Sunday afternoon.

The faint scent of a cup of Lei’s coffee, forgotten and gone cold in a mug decorated with the Maui Police Department shield, mingled with the lemony disinfectant that permeated all government buildings.

Keone and I were stationed in Lei’s tiny cubicle office.

The small space was growing increasingly stuffy, despite a ceiling fan that rotated lazily overhead.

The blinds were half-drawn against the sun, creating stripes of golden light across the scattered files covering the desk.

Lei had installed us in her office with the cache we’d recovered from the bank and then shot out to try to pick up David Santos for questioning.

She’d gone to his address in Kahului, only to find he’d vanished.

She’d put out a Be On Look Out, but so far, no luck.

She was now at the airport, impressing on the security forces there the need to detain Santos if he tried to get off the island.

Every now and then Keone or I would get up from the records we were reviewing to stretch.

I liked leaning back to look at the colorful corkboard on Lei’s partner Pono Kaihale’s side of the cubicle; it was chock-full of family photos and colorful with artwork from his kids.

Keone’s cousin was on vacation, which was why he hadn’t been around to leaven the investigation with his big laugh and bold presence.

Lei’s side of the cubicle was utilitarian, a montage of wanted posters and police bulletins. Only one framed photo of her, her husband Michael Stevens, their two children and a pair of Rottweilers, gave any glimpse into her personal life.

“Still nothing from the Coast Guard about a sighting of David Santos,” Officer Palakiko said, poking his head into the cubicle.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, evidence of the humid day outside that the building’s struggling air-conditioning couldn’t quite combat.

“But they verified there are no boats registered to the Santos family here on the island.”

“What about him getting out on a chartered vessel?” I rubbed my eyes, dry and tired from hours of scrutinizing small print and trying to understand what I was looking at. “David Santos would have access to something like that, with his family’s resources.”

“I’ll add that to our search,” the officer said, wiping his brow with a grubby handkerchief. “But that’s a lot of boats to track.”

“Keep on it,” I said. “If he’s trying to leave the island without using the airport, a private boat is his most likely option.”

As Palakiko departed, the squeak of his leather duty belt fading with distance, I turned to Keone. “Don’t you think we should listen to that recording from the safety deposit box? Maybe it will tell us something.”

Keone frowned. “I know Lei wanted to play it right away, but she thought she’d pick up David Santos and question him first—which has turned out to be a bigger project than anticipated. But won’t she be pissed if we play it without her?”

We both glanced over at the small recorder in its plastic evidence bag.

“Yep, she’d be mad,” I said reluctantly.

“Why don’t you call and see if we can listen to it with her on speaker?” Keone said.

“Good idea.” I called Lei and she was agreeable. I set my phone on the desk and hit the button while Keone carefully removed the recorder from the evidence bag. “You’re on speaker, Lei. We’re ready to play the recording.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

Keone pressed ‘Play’. A series of clicks and shuffling sounds filled the small office before voices emerged.

“. . . need to move forward with the development plans,” a man’s voice said, his tone clipped and businesslike. “The council vote is next month, and we need to ensure it passes.”

“And what about the old woman?” another voice asked. “She’s gathering those documents. If she goes public with them . . .”

“Pearl Yamamoto is becoming an obstacle,” a third voice said. A chill ran over me, raising the hairs on my arms: I recognized it immediately as David Santos. “We’ve invested too much to let her derail everything with her Heritage Garden nonsense. Those old internment claims need to stay buried.”

“I agree,” said another voice—softer, more measured. “It’s unfortunate, but we can’t let sentiment interfere with progress.”

My heart skipped a beat. That measured, reasonable tone was also familiar. I gripped the edge of the desk, trying to keep my expression neutral—I didn’t want to alarm Keone.

“And if she doesn’t back down?” the first voice asked.

“Then we remove the obstacle,” David Santos replied, his voice hardening. “One way or another.”

“There are ways to handle this discreetly,” the measured voice said. “She’s elderly. No one would question a health crisis.”

“That’s how you can repay your debt,” the first voice said. “But it better look natural.”

The recording continued with discussion of property values and council members to pressure, but I barely heard it. My mind was racing, piecing together all the times I’d interacted with the owner of that voice.

When the recording ended, there was silence in the office, broken only by Lei’s voice coming through the speaker.

“Well, that’s certainly enough for questioning of those involved,” she said grimly. “Did either of you recognize any of those voices?”

Keone cleared his throat. “I thought I recognized Mayor Santos, his son David, Councilman Akana . . .” He trailed off and gazed at me questioningly. “And one other. I’m not sure of the fourth voice. All male speakers, though.”

I nodded and swallowed hard, buying myself a moment to think, because I was certain I’d heard both David Santos and Kawika Pali.

But what if I was wrong?

What if it just sounded like him? The recording wasn’t the best, and the thought of falsely accusing someone who’d been attacked, who’d cared so loyally for Pearl, who might be innocent . . . I hesitated to speak his name aloud.

But if Kawika really was involved, he was still at the hospital with Pearl.

Right now.

With easy access to her, helpless in her bed.

“Kat?” Lei prompted. “You went quiet. Did you recognize someone?”

“One of them was David Santos,” I said. “That’s all I could swear to. The recording quality isn’t great.”

“I have some ideas about who’s on that recording, but David Santos is definitely our priority,” Lei replied. “I’m heading back to the station now.”

“See you soon,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

As I ended the call, Keone leaned forward. “You recognized someone, didn’t you?”

I hesitated. “I’m not sure. I need to get some air,” I said abruptly, standing up.

Keone looked at me with concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just . . . cramped in here. And worried about Pearl.” I grabbed my purse, trying to appear casual. “Actually, I think I’ll swing by the hospital to check on her. I’d like to get eyes on her myself.”

“Want me to come with you?” Keone asked, half rising from his chair.

“No, you stay, please,” I said quickly. “Someone needs to keep going through these records. I’ll just pop in for a quick visit and be back in an hour.”

Keone frowned. “Call me if anything seems off, okay?”

“Of course,” I promised, already heading for the door.

* * *

The hospital corridor was quieter than usual for a Sunday afternoon.

I’d stopped at the gift shop downstairs, picking out an arrangement of anthuriums and orchids, hoping they’d brighten Pearl’s room.

The flowers gave me a perfect cover; I was just a concerned friend making a visit.

Hopefully I could drop Lei’s name and make it past the officer at her door.

As I approached the elevator, I froze. Through the glass walls of the hospital café, I spotted David Santos.

The man we’d been hunting all day was calmly sitting at a table, deep in conversation with a man in light blue scrubs, whose back was to the window.

They were huddled close, Santos gesturing emphatically while the medical staffer nodded.

I ducked behind a large potted palm, nearly dropping my flowers.

Santos was supposed to be running, trying to flee the island—not chatting in the hospital cafeteria.

I peered around the foliage for another look at the man in scrubs.

I couldn’t see his face, but something about his build seemed familiar.

My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone and dialed Lei.

“Detective Texeira,” she answered crisply.

“It’s Kat,” I whispered. “I’m at Maui Memorial, and David Santos is here.”

“What?” Lei’s voice sharpened. “What are you doing at the hospital?”

“I decided to check on Pearl,” I said. “Lei, Santos is in the café talking to someone in scrubs. They look . . . intense.”

“Do not approach,” Lei ordered. “I’m ten minutes out. Stay where you are and keep eyes on him if you can do it safely. But Kat, do not engage. This man may have tried to kill Kawika—and Pearl.”

“Understood,” I said, my gaze fixed on Santos. “And Lei? I think the person he’s talking to works here. At the hospital. Where Pearl is, need I remind you. He’s wearing scrubs.”

“Keep them in visual,” Lei said. “I’m calling for backup and I’m on my way.”

I tucked the phone into my pocket as I positioned myself behind the palm where I could watch without being obvious. Santos and the medical staffer were now examining something on a tablet, their expressions serious.

Pearl’s room was three floors up. That Santos and his accomplice were here couldn’t be a coincidence. I clutched the bouquet tighter, the wax-paper-wrapped stems crushing under my grip as I watched and waited, praying Lei would arrive before the men made a move.

But Santos and the man in scrubs stood up from their table. The staffer tucked the tablet under his arm and nodded once to Santos before turning toward the elevator bank. He wore a blue medical mask and a paper hair covering; I couldn’t recognize him in that getup.

Santos remained in the café, steam from his untouched coffee curling upward as he pulled out his phone.