Dying for a Daiquiri (8 page)

“Peaberry coffee usually costs more, doesn’t it?” Stan asked.

Regan nodded. “It occurs when the coffee cherry yields only one bean instead of the usual two. It’s very rare.” She paused. “Sort of like a good man.”

Before she could elaborate, the door opened and six more caffeine-seeking tourists entered. Regan looked at her watch. “Darn. I hoped to take you on a private tour, but we’re short-handed today. Victor needs to leave to help his wife and daughter prepare for Keiki’s funeral.”

“Keiki’s funeral?” I asked. “Why would your staff be involved with that?”

“Oh, I guess you didn’t know,” Regan replied. “Victor is married to Keiki’s mother.”

“Her father works here too?”

“Victor is, I mean, was Keiki’s stepfather. And he doesn’t just work here.” Regan gnawed on her lower lip. “Victor is my boss.”

For a brief moment, you could have heard a coffee bean drop. Then the chatter of the other tourists filled the room.

“Victor married Keiki’s mother several years ago,” Regan clarified. “Technically he’s my boss because he runs the coffee operation. Since I’m the controller, I also report to Ritz Nagrow, the owner. He…” she stopped as two men entered the center from the back of the building. “There’s Ritz and Victor now.”

A short wiry Asian man in his early fifties conversed with a tall dark-haired man with cinematic good looks. Dressed in an off-white linen blazer and dark slacks, the taller man looked like he’d stepped off the movie set of
South Pacific,
ready to sing “Some Enchanted Evening.” I took a wild guess this was the owner. Regan gave a half-hearted wave in their direction and they headed toward us.

She introduced the men to our group. “This is Ritz Nagrow, the owner of Koffee Land. And this is Victor Yakamura.”

Mother took Victor’s calloused hand in both of hers. “We are all so sorry for your loss.”

Victor stared at her with red-rimmed eyes, bordered by crow’s feet so deep they appeared etched in stone. “
Mahalo
. Thank you,” he said, releasing her hand. “I must go home now and assist my daughter and my wife.”

“We’ll talk about that matter tomorrow,” Ritz said to Victor.

Keiki’s stepfather nodded then took his leave.

“How do you like Koffee Land?” The dashing coffee plantation owner’s brown eyes sparkled as he beamed at our group. This man was either naturally energetic or he’d just drunk a pot full of Peaberry coffee.

“They just arrived,” Regan told Ritz. “I was about to give them a tour.”

“Of course, of course. They must have the grand tour,” he responded, his voice indicating a trace of an accent. “Feel free to tell them about our upcoming event. But, first, I must go over something with you. Perhaps your guests can sample one of our many delectable items while they wait.”

“Um, okay.” She pointed to a shelf of brightly wrapped boxes. “If you’re hungry, check out our selection of donkey balls. They’re really tasty.”

Liz and I looked at each other. Did Regan say what I thought she said? We zipped over to the aisle Regan had pointed to and discovered an assortment of Donkey Balls, a local brand of sphere-shaped chocolate candies with flavor options ranging from chocolate-covered macadamia nuts to chocolate and fruit-flavored malt balls larger than a super-sized jawbreaker.

What a great place to work. Caffeine in liquid and solid forms. Liz and I each purchased a pack and shared them with the group while we waited.

Regan looked frustrated when she returned. “Ready for the tour?”

I wondered if everything was okay, but with my cheeks stuffed full of chocolate chunks, all I could do was nod.

As we hiked toward an area planted with coffee trees, Regan provided running commentary. “The history of Kona coffee goes back over 180 years. At one point, all Kona coffee trees came from one single tree in the King of France's private greenhouse.”

“Talk about a huge family tree,” joked Stan.

Regan politely chuckled then explained that elevations for coffee farms on the Big Island ranged from 1,500 to 3,500 feet. Unlike grapes, which are picked in the fall at the precise moment the vintner determines, coffee cherries don’t ripen at the same time. They get picked four to six times a year. Labor costs for hand picking are one of the reasons Kona coffee is so expensive, sometimes exceeding fifty dollars a pound.

Fifty dollars a pound? No wonder they call it Kona gold.

“After the cherries arrive at the mill, the beans are washed then sundried on decks called
hoshidanas
.” Regan pointed to a large deck in the distance

“What happens if it rains?” I asked.

“We use lots of tiny umbrellas,” Regan responded. When my mouth gaped, she smiled. “A little coffee humor. We have mechanical dryers if needed.”

As we continued the tour, I marveled at the similarities and differences between grape growing and coffee farming. More than fifty wineries are located in El Dorado County. Several owners are friends of mine, so I knew a tremendous amount of love and labor went into producing the award-winning Gold Country wines.

“Are all beans grown on this island considered to be Kona coffee?” I asked.

Regan shook her head. “True Kona coffee must be grown within the Kona coffee belt, an area twenty miles long and only two miles wide.”

“I read something about a scandal where some grower bought less expensive beans then sold them as one hundred percent Kona coffee,” Stan said.

“That was a huge scandal and it led to new laws,” replied Regan. “Inspections are now required to ensure that all beans labeled as 100% Kona are grown in the district.”

“Next up is the roasting room. After that, I’ll show you our latest project. Something no other coffee farm has done.” She pointed to a tall wooden tower situated on a distant hill.

“Is that a zip-line tower?” Stan asked.

“Our latest addition,” confirmed Regan. “Ritz and Pilar are determined to turn Koffee Land into a destination coffee farm. They want to host weddings, special events, even movies. Our first big event is a new reality show called
The Bride and the Bachelor.
They start taping next Monday.”

“That sounds like fun,” I said. “Aren’t you excited?”

“I guess.” Regan nibbled her lower lip. “I personally think if a coffee farm produces fabulous coffee that should be enough. But Ritz thinks on a grand scale. We’ve just completed the addition of six more ‘honeymoon’ cabins to the two guest houses that were already on the property, plus an event pavilion and the zip-line, of course.”

“Are you going to have zip-line weddings?” Liz turned to her husband. “Darn. That would have been something, wouldn’t it, honey?”

Brian’s eyes cut to mine. It was a good thing Liz was already married. There was no way this matron of honor would have “zipped” down the aisle.

“Can we ride it today?” Liz asked.

“Not today, although it will be operational before you leave for home. Everything was delayed when we had to stop construction for a few weeks. The coffee farms surrounding us are not happy about our new additions. They keep saying these delays are due to bad
juju
. That the gods don’t want the Kona coffee belt turned into Disneyland.”

“Those Hawaiian gods are an active bunch, aren’t they?” Stan said.

Regan’s face turned as white as the fluffy clouds up above us as she replied. “I don’t know if the gods were involved or not, but it’s tragic when a worker is killed.”

“Omigod,” I said. “What happened?”

“He fell off that zip-line platform.” Regan pointed to the tower in the distance. “His boss asked him to stay late to finish something. Supposedly he slipped and fell from the platform to the ground.”

“Ouch. That’s about a forty-foot drop,” Stan said.

“His body wasn’t discovered until the following morning. It was horrible.” She closed her eyes as if remembering the incident. “Henry was beside himself with grief. And now the poor guy has to deal with his sister-in-law’s death as well.”

“Henry was his boss? Walea’s husband?” I asked. “No wonder he’s so…” I wanted to say crabby, but that seemed rude considering what the poor man had recently suffered.

“It’s been a tough month for all the staff.” Regan glanced down at her watch. “We better get on with the tour. By the time we return, Ritz will undoubtedly have another project for me to work on. I just wish we made money as quickly as he spends it.”

As Stan and Brian peppered Regan with questions about the zip-line and other Koffee Land improvements, my phone beeped indicating a missed call from Dave. The reception on this side of Mauna Loa must be iffy. I followed the others into the roasting room, but it was so noisy I slipped out to return my brother’s call. In the distance, an SUV climbed the long driveway to the visitor’s center. Poor Regan. She would barely finish with our group before leading another tour.

My thumb was poised over Dave’s number when the squeal of brakes drew my attention. The vehicle I’d noticed skidded around the last curve and slid into a parking space near the front of the building. The car had barely stopped when two men stepped out. One was dressed in a shirt and slacks and the other in a Hawaii police uniform.

Uh oh. What were the odds the officers stopped by for a free cup of coffee and a Donkey Ball snack?

I shoved my phone back into my cluttered purse. Dave could wait a few more minutes while I found out what was going on. I trotted down the sidewalk and managed to catch up with the officers as they entered the visitor’s center. The taller red-haired man was kind enough to hold the heavy door open for me.

Tiffany stood frozen behind the reception counter. Her dark eyes were as huge as the chocolate-covered malt balls I’d crunched on earlier.

“Aloha,” she squeaked. “Do you want any c..c..coffee?” Her arm shot out in the direction of the large carafes. Then she raced out the door as fast as her flip-flops would allow.

The two men turned and stared at me, the only other occupant in the room.

“Can I assist you?” I asked the man dressed in civilian clothing.

“Do you work here?”

Since I wasn’t dressed in a lime-green Koffee Land polo shirt and I was hauling a huge straw tote with me, I gave him a two for his deductive abilities.

“No, I’m visiting from California. My sister-in-law works here. Are you looking for one of the employees? Several of them are off today due to a death in the family.”

“We’d like to speak with Regan Bingham. Is she available?”

“Regan is my sister-in-law. She’s out escorting a tour.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed, and I could swear his jaw squared right before my eyes. He whipped out a pad and pen from his pocket. “Okay, lemme get this straight.” His Bronx accent seemed out of place in Hawaii. “Are you saying you’re related to Dave Bingham, the owner of Daiquiri Dave’s restaurant?”

I nodded. “Dave is my brother. Is he okay?”

“For now.”

What kind of an answer was that? I opened my mouth to ask my own questions when the door opened and another man entered the center. He looked startled to see me but quickly recovered. “So, Ms. McKay, we meet again. What a strange coincidence.” His tone of voice indicated he didn’t think much of coincidences.

Neither did I.

“Detective Lee, what brings you to Koffee Land? Does this have anything to do with Keiki’s death?”

He pressed his lips together. “Where is Mrs. Bingham?”

The guy with the Bronx accent turned to Lee. “She’s supposedly giving some folks a tour. Some little Hawaiian hottie ran out the door the second we arrived. Should I send Yaku after her?”

“Yes, immediately. And, O’Grady, if you would be so kind as to locate this tour group and bring Mrs. Bingham back here. Then we can finish our business.”

O’Grady stuffed his notebook back in his pocket, opened the door and let it slam behind him. Yaku headed outside, leaving me alone with the detective. I decided to be hospitable and offer some refreshments. A little sugar might sweeten his mission.

“Would you like a ball or two while you wait?”

Some days I actually
think
before I open my mouth. Today was not one of them.

A hint of a smile appeared on the detective’s face. “
Mahalo
, but I will pass on your offer for now. However a cup of coffee would be refreshing.”

His gaze roved around the center as he walked toward the coffee samples. The door opened again and I expected to see O’Grady enter along with Regan and the rest of our party. Instead, a throng of white-haired tourists wandered into the center. Through the open door, I watched more passengers disembark from a parked Paradise Tour bus.

I hoped Regan or Tiffany returned soon, because I was having a difficult enough time playing host to one cop. I had no idea how to entertain a busload of caffeine-starved seniors.

Lee plastered his cell to his right ear and used his palm to cover his left ear to muffle noise from the boisterous group. Apparently, he still couldn’t hear. He opened the door and, as he walked out, he mouthed, “Don’t leave.”

Like I could? I felt like an airport controller directing men and women to their respective restrooms and others to the coffee counter. Where was my sister-in-law and why were the police here in force? If an employee didn’t show up soon, I might resort to giving away candy samples. If nothing else, chewing on the huge chocolate spheres would stifle the noise level.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to resort to a Donkey Ball free-for-all. O’Grady returned with Detective Lee, Regan and the rest of my gang.

Stan bustled over. “You missed the best part of the tour. Where’d you go?”

“Dave phoned and I went outside to return the call. Before I could buzz him back, these officers arrived, followed by this busload of tourists.”

“That red-headed guy said we had to follow him to the center. What’s going on?”

“Officer Lee,” I pointed in the detective’s direction, “wants to talk to Regan.”

“Oh.” Stan looked left and then right. “So where is she?”