Page 32 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)
TWO WEEKS LATER:
Late afternoon’s warmth slanted through the sliders of our former model home in New Ohia State Park, bathing the assembled company in warm golden light.
The wide deck had been arranged with additional seating to accommodate our expanded group, while the adjacent living room buzzed with conversations, and in the background, Artie Pahinui skillfully plucked the strings of his guitar in a slack-key melody.
Tiki and Misty had claimed the prime sunny spot on the bay window seat of the living room, their combined gray and calico fur gleaming as they observed the human proceedings with characteristic feline detachment—occasionally accepting offerings of cheese bites from Rita, who remained convinced that all cats required constant supplementary feeding regardless of their obvious health.
At the center of the gathering sat Pearl Yamamoto, her diminutive frame dwarfed by what she called her “command center,” a state-of-the-art wheelchair that gleamed with polished titanium and custom details.
Despite the toll the poisoning had taken on her body, Pearl’s dark eyes remained bright and sharp beneath her silver hair, which was perfectly styled and adorned with delicate jade combs.
Standing behind Pearl’s wheelchair, next to Keone, was Lani Nakasone, her caregiver of two weeks.
Lani was a part-time waitress at the Hotel Hana, which had been slow lately, allowing her time to work with Pearl and provide her care.
She and Keone had dated in the past; their relationship had ended amicably, but seeing them together still triggered a tiny, irrational twinge of something I refused to call jealousy.
Especially since Lani was genuinely kind, and exactly what Pearl needed right now. I actually liked her. I just didn’t like her next to my man, which was where she was standing right now.
Keone laughed at something Pearl told the both of them as I moved between the kitchen and the deck, balancing a tray of iced tea glasses while navigating around the Red Hat Society ladies.
They had commandeered the most comfortable seating, and their vibrant purple outfits and signature red hats added a festive air to what was essentially an informal debriefing session following the most significant corruption case in our area’s recent history.
“Here, let me help with that,” Keone said, intercepting me before I could attempt to distribute drinks single-handedly.
“Thanks,” I smiled, releasing the tray to his more stable grip. “I think Aunt Fae invited half the town instead of just the key investigation participants.”
“She does love to throw a gathering,” Keone said.
“Why have an intimate debrief when you could host a community forum complete with color-coordinated refreshments?” He nodded toward the dining table, where Aunt Fae and my friend Elle had arranged an impressive spread of finger foods organized by color—a rainbow of culinary offerings that was as visually striking as it was delicious.
“At least she restrained herself from printing commemorative T-shirts. Though I wouldn’t put it past her to have them on order for the Heritage Garden groundbreaking ceremony,” I said as I finished handing out the glasses of iced tea.
“Too late.” Keone grinned as he set down the empty tray to reach into his pocket. He produced his phone and showed me a mock-up image Aunt Fae had sent him that morning: a proposed T-shirt design featuring a stylized crane in flight above the text “Truth Rises: Ohia Heritage Garden Now.”
“Oh wow,” I groaned, though I couldn’t help smiling. “Please tell me you talked her out of it.”
“Actually, Pearl loves the design,” he replied. “Says it captures the spirit of the project. They’re discussing color options and sustainable fabric choices and planning to have it on the Heritage Garden website, along with other swag.”
“I insisted on organic bamboo fabric for any of the Heritage Garden merchandise we’re planning.
” Pearl must have overheard us, because she chimed in, her voice carrying its characteristic blend of authority and humor.
“If we’re going to commemorate justice with clothing, it should at least be ethically and sustainably sourced. ”
Lani leaned down to adjust Pearl’s shawl, a handwoven piece in shades of purple that complemented her cream-colored dress. “You have strong opinions about fabric,” she said with an affectionate smile. “I’ve learned a lot about textiles in the last two weeks.”
“That sounds about right,” I said, making my way over to them. “How are you feeling today, Pearl? I hope this isn’t too much.”
Pearl waved away my concern with a beringed hand. “After so long in that hospital room, being surrounded by friends feels like medicine.” Her gaze swept the room and she smiled with evident satisfaction. “Besides, how could I miss the victory celebration?”
“We’re calling it a ‘case review,’” I reminded her. “Lei was very specific about not labeling it a celebration while some aspects of the case are still proceeding.”
“Semantics,” Pearl said dismissively. “When justice begins to unfold, after so many years of waiting, I reserve the right to consider it celebration worthy, regardless.”
Before I could respond to this characteristically Pearl-like proclamation, Lei appeared from the kitchen. Her curly brown hair was down, a plumeria decorated her ear, and she’d exchanged her gun and badge for casual jeans and a linen blouse. She looked pretty, young, and relaxed.
“Your aunt’s pulled out the good stuff for the ‘official debrief,’” she informed us, carrying a small tray with glasses of champagne and tumblers of amber liquid.
“For those who are in the mood for a little day drinking. Fae says we’ve earned it after navigating ‘the most convoluted conspiracy since Watergate’—her words, not mine. ”
“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Edith, snatching a tumbler of Scotch off the tray. Josie, beside her, claimed a glass of champagne, as did Rita and Opal.
My good friend Elle went for a Scotch. “It’s been a while since I’ve done any day drinking,” she said.
“I’ll take mine with ice, please,” Pearl said, extending a slightly tremulous hand. When Lei raised an eyebrow, Pearl added, “Dr. Patel cleared me for one medicinal drink per day. I’ve been saving today’s allotment for this precise moment.”
Lei carefully placed a glass in Pearl’s hand and steadied it, while Lani fetched the ice bucket and added a few cubes with a pair of tongs. I smiled at the sight, because the two of them reminded me of courtiers waiting on a queen.
“Aunt Fae has been binge-watching political documentaries again,” I explained to the group, accepting my own glass of champagne.
“Last month it was lunar landing conspiracies. The month before that, it was cold cases from the 1970s. Her subscription queue is a journey through humanity’s darkest and strangest moments. ”
“Keeps the mind sharp,” Aunt Fae declared, appearing behind Lei with another tray, this one holding a bowl of tropical fruit cubes speared with toothpicks for easy eating. “They provide excellent inspiration for my mystery writing group.”
“How are the ‘Poison Pen Pals’ doing these days?” Keone asked, using the formal name of Aunt Fae’s writing circle—five women, some right here in the room. They met monthly to craft murder mysteries that were, according to their own description, “demographically underrepresented in the genre.”
“Thriving,” Aunt Fae replied with satisfaction.
“Edith’s working on a serial killer novel featuring a retirement community gardening club as the investigative team.
Rita’s crafting a locked-room mystery set in a knitting circle and in a house full of cats—imagine the tangles, ha!
And I’m outlining a true-crime-inspired thriller based on—” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “—recent local events, with names and identifying details changed to protect the guilty and to avoid libel suits.”
“I didn’t hear that,” Lei said, a dimple in her cheek betraying amusement. “As the detective of record on those ‘recent local events,’ I am not endorsing any fictionalized accounts of real events, particularly those featuring elected official cover-ups or plant toxins.”
“Who said anything about plant toxins?” Aunt Fae asked, though her blue eyes were mischievous. “Now that you mention it, there are some fascinating recipes involving oleander . . .”
Pearl’s soft laugh turned into a cough, and Lani immediately produced a glass of water and swapped that for the Scotch.
“Perhaps we should avoid detailed discussions of the substance that nearly killed me,” Pearl said, after taking a sip.
“Though I like the idea of transforming my near-death experience into a mystery novel.”
“Uncovering the plot certainly was convoluted enough for one,” I said.
“And that’s my cue to redirect this conversation.
” I raised my glass slightly and tapped the side of it with serving tongs to get attention.
“Shall we move to the actual debriefing portion of this gathering? I believe everyone who should be here has arrived.”
Indeed, our core group had settled in: Lei was sitting comfortably in one of the Adirondack armchairs, Keone and I moved over to claim the porch swing, Artie and Opal were together on the padded bench near the palms, Pearl had positioned her chair in the middle where she could see everyone, with Lani standing behind her.
Aunt Fae perched on the wide arm of Lei’s Adirondack chair with the air of a co-host at an official proceeding.
The Red Hat Society members—Josie, Edith, Clara, and Rita—formed a vibrant semicircle of purple and red on the settees arranged around a low table, while Ilima sat slightly apart in the second Adirondack, her expression thoughtful, with Elle perched beside her on a stool.