Page 31 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)
I woke to the sound of vacuuming in the hallway, and the warm press of Keone’s body against mine.
For a moment, I kept my eyes closed, savoring the simple pleasure of safety and comfort after the chaos of the past few days.
The Hampton Inn’s bed was soft and the sheets luxurious, and I’d slept deeply.
When I finally opened my eyes, sunlight was streaming through the partially open curtains, highlighting the rumpled sheets. Keone was still asleep beside me; his face was relaxed in a way I rarely got to see.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb him, and saw a text from Lei:
“Team meeting at MPD in an hour to review the case. I’ll let you know the outcome.”
“Need us to come in?” I typed back. “ To fill in any blanks.”
“Nope. Got it handled. Enjoy that hotel room.”
Maui Police Department had paid for the room as a case-related expense after the takedown of David Santos and Kawika Pali yesterday. Mayor Santos and Councilman Akana were also under arrest.
I smiled and typed back: “ Not a chance I’m getting out of this bed anytime soon. Keep us posted!”
Setting the phone down, I nestled against Keone, who stirred and draped an arm over my waist. We’d called in to work, and both of us had today off.
“What time is it?” he mumbled into my hair.
“Almost nine,” I replied. “Lei’s heading into a meeting with the MPD brass about the case.”
“Mmm,” he acknowledged, his eyes still closed. “Good thing we’ve got personal time off.”
“Very good thing,” I agreed, turning in his arms to face him. “Though I wish I could be a fly on the wall in that meeting.”
Keone’s eyes opened then. “You okay with all of it?”
I considered for a moment, turning my face to rest my cheek on his warm, bare chest. “Yes. The authorities will take the case where they can, and it will be what it will be. And honestly, I need some distance from all of it right now.”
“How about we get breakfast downstairs and eat on the lanai, then spend some time at Makena Big Beach after that?” He nuzzled my neck. “Have to make the most of time off on this side of the island.”
“Perfect,” I said, I’ll get dressed and be ready in just a few minutes.
By the time we made it to the balcony with our coffee and breakfast, it was nearly ten. We settled onto a single lounger, sides pressed together, plates balanced on our laps as we watched tourists dotting the pool’s deck below.
My phone buzzed again with a text from Lei: Press conference later. Captain Omura is putting it all out there. Pretty sure Ilima will be measuring curtains in the Hana-Ohia mayor’s office by the end of the week.
I showed the message to Keone. “Justice for Pearl, and a new beginning for Hana-Ohia.”
“Santos may weather criminal charges, but his career is over,” Keone said, taking a sip of his coffee. “And Mom and Edith will make sure the Heritage Garden becomes everything Pearl dreamed it could be.”
I leaned against him, feeling the weight of the past few days begin to lift. “History preserved, truth acknowledged, and oleander reserved strictly for ornamental purposes.”
As we relaxed and ate, my mind drifted to the meeting happening across town.
I could picture Lei sitting at the conference table, her files and evidence neatly arranged before her.
Captain Omura would be there—I’d met her once at a community outreach event, a petite Japanese woman with an air of quiet authority that made even the tallest officers straighten when she entered a room.
District Attorney Hiromo would be there too, and he had a reputation for meticulous preparation that was legendary on the island.
I imagined them going through the evidence piece by piece—the recording from Pearl’s safety deposit box, the toxicology reports confirming oleander poisoning, Kawika’s detailed confession implicating both himself and David Santos in the attempt on Pearl’s life.
I could see them laying out the complex web of connections: Mayor Santos orchestrating the whole thing with Councilman Akana, using David as their on-the-ground enforcer, pressuring Kawika until he broke.
All to get their hands on Pearl’s land—the final piece they needed for their “Cultural Corridor” development that would have made them millions while erasing a crucial piece of island history.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. They’d wanted to bury the past—the records proving that Pearl’s family’s land had been illegally seized during the Japanese internment and never properly returned.
Instead, they’d managed to bring that history into the spotlight, ensuring it would now be preserved and remembered.
“What are you thinking about?” Keone asked, breaking into my thoughts.
“Just how things have a way of coming full circle,” I said. “Santos and Akana wanted to erase history, but they’ll end up preserving it instead.”
“And paying a price for trying to bury it,” Keone added.
My phone buzzed again—another text from Lei:
Omura is taking no prisoners. She told the police commissioner her parents were interned at Manzanar.
This is personal for her. They’re talking about claiming the five-acre parcel from the Santos family using eminent domain—and paying them the same pittance for it that they paid the Yamamotos.
Looks like it will be part of the Heritage Garden for sure.
“Captain Omura’s parents were interned,” I told Keone. “No wonder she’s going hard after the Santos-Akana cabal.”
“The department doesn’t usually dig in on a case where the primary target—Pearl—survived and the main perpetrators are already in custody,” Keone said.
“But it’s bigger than that. It’s about acknowledging what happened decades ago and making sure it’s not forgotten or repeated.”
Press conference scheduled for 10am tomorrow. They’re going to lay out everything—the attempted murder, the development scheme, the historical context with the internment records. Sticking to what we can prove but making the connections clear enough for even the densest voter to follow.
“Wow,” I said, showing Keone the message. “They’re really doing this.”
“Good,” he said. “The public deserves to know the truth.”
I nodded, thinking of Ilima, who had stood by Pearl from the beginning, championing the Heritage Garden against the Santos-Akana Cultural Corridor plan. With this scandal breaking, her mayoral victory was all but guaranteed.
“You know what this means for your mom,” I said.
“Mayor Kaihale has a nice ring to it,” Keone agreed.
“And I bet her first official act will be to secure historical landmark status for Pearl’s garden.
” Despite everything—the poison, the conspiracy, the betrayal—Pearl had won.
Her garden would be preserved, her family’s history acknowledged, and the truth about what had happened during the internment period would be known.
The thought filled me with a quiet satisfaction.
“We should call her,” I said suddenly, reaching for my phone again.
“Pearl?” Keone asked.
I nodded. “She should hear about the press conference from us, not the news.”
I dialed the hospital room. “Hello?” Pearl’s voice came through the line, stronger than it had been the day before, but still carrying the tremor of age and illness.
“Pearl, it’s Kat,” I said. “I have some news about the case.”
As I filled her in on the upcoming press conference and what it would mean for the future of her garden, warmth flooded me.
Pearl had been knocked down but never defeated. She was always ready to begin again, to fight for what mattered. To preserve the past while building something new for the future.
When I hung up, Keone was watching me with a soft expression.
“How is she?” he asked.
“Stronger,” I said. “And very pleased about the press conference. She said she’d try to watch it from her hospital room.”
Keone nodded, then gestured toward the view before them: sunshine, waving palms, sparkles on the pool and the sea beyond. “So, what do you say? Ready to face the world again?”
I looked out at the ocean beyond Kahului Bay—endless, washing away the old, always creating something new. Much like our beloved island of Maui, where the past and future were forever in conversation.
“Not quite yet,” I said, settling back against him on the lounger and turning to give him a kiss.
“Let’s stay here a little longer.” Sometimes the most important thing you could do was simply be present—to witness, to remember, and when the time was right, to help others do the same—with some kissing in the sunshine to spice things up.