Page 4 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)
I was only a little fuzzy and frazzled from a fun-filled (if sleepless) night doing the No Pants Dance with Mr. K when I arrived at work the next morning. Our delivery guy, Chad, had arrived at the P.O. early and was honking the mail truck’s horn as I pulled into the lot at eight a.m. on the dot.
I was rather proud of myself for being able to make yesterday’s clothes smell OK with a laundry freshener sheet in Keone’s dryer.
“It’s time you left a few things here,” Keone had said, and I was still thinking on what he meant by that as Chad and I toted in the usual canvas bags and towering piles of mail-order boxes for sorting.
The package delivery revolution had caught Ohia understaffed and unable to keep up most days, but we did the best we could.
My bright purple nitrile-clad hands moved on autopilot, sorting the mail delivery into our few and highly prized postal boxes. The familiar scent of paper, cardboard, and sniff-of-the-day tropical air freshener (today’s surprise: guava) felt oddly comforting in their normalcy.
But nothing really felt normal after yesterday’s tea party gone wrong.
Pua Chang, my coworker, came in at nine several mornings a week so I could go off duty a little early.
This was time I usually spent private sleuthing for K apparently she’d forgotten her hearing aid again.
Was there anything unusual about Pearl’s tea party? Besides everything ?
A strange envelope addressed to “The Keeper of Secrets” care of Pearl Yamamoto caught my attention.
No mail was ever delivered to her home, and this had her house’s address on it.
I flipped the card over, looking for a return address.
Nothing. The paper was the same cream-colored stock Pearl always used. Very strange.
Pua had returned to continue her stream of consciousness on the events surrounding Pearl’s collapse, and because of the envelope I’d lost the thread of it.
“—and, naturally, the development contract for her proposed Heritage Tea Garden remains unsigned,” Pua was saying, adjusting the stacks of forms behind the counter. “One does wonder about the timing of her health emergency.”
“Pua,” I interrupted, studying the mysterious envelope. “Did Pearl mention expecting any important correspondence to you?”
“Correspondence? No, but she did seem preoccupied at last week’s Historical Society meeting. And you know how meticulous she usually is about the minutes . . .”
“That’s right. Pearl is the recording secretary for the East Maui Historical Society,” I muttered, still studying the mysterious piece of mail.
Pua raised a brow at me, clearly restraining herself from commenting on my keen sense of the obvious.
I held the envelope out for her inspection. “Does the title ‘Keeper of Secrets’ mean anything to you?”
“That’s not a title we use at the Historical Society.” Pua came in beside me and tweaked the missive out of my gloved hand. She studied the card carefully, holding it aloft and backlit to try to see through the envelope, but the heavy paper was too thick. “Very dramatic.”
“Do you know if it’s used anywhere else?”
“If so, I’m not aware of it.” She shook her head.
“Since this card is addressed to her home, I’m going to set it aside and hold onto it for her,” I said. “Hopefully I can visit her in the hospital and deliver it in person.”
“And satisfy your curiosity,” Pua said. “They say curiosity killed the cat. And your name is?”
“Katherine,” I replied, zipping out of the sorting area to stash the envelope in the inbox on my desk. “And I’m keeping this safe for Pearl. Nothing more.”
Never mind how my fingers itched to get into that envelope . . .