I'm Kona Love You Forever (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series Book 6) (6 page)

“Heen, get down,” Hatch ordered.

The licking continued.

“It’s okay
,” I said. “I think she’s getting a few spots I may have missed in the shower.”

“Wahine,
you want to go to the room?” Hatch said in a menacing voice.

At the word “
room” Wahine jumped down and froze. Obviously, exile was something she didn’t want any part of. She looked up at me with worried brown eyes.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I won’t let him do it.”

I asked Hatch if he could come to dinner tomorrow.

“Is the zombie going to be there?”

“You mean, Kaili? No. It’ll be you, me, Farrah and Ono. It’s at my house, but Farrah’s bringing the food.”

“Whew, dodged a bullet there,” he said.

“I hope you’re referring to Kaili not joining us and not something else.”

“Yeah,
for sure.” He pulled me in close and kissed the top of my head. “You’re an amazing woman, Pali. You run your own business and you gave up a huge inheritance to make your brothers and sisters financially secure. Not to mention you could kick my butt without breaking a sweat. But let’s face it, for all the things you can do, you can’t do
Iron Chef
.”

“Hey, I know it. I
t’d be a stretch for me to even do ‘aluminum foil chef’,” I said. “That’s why I’m glad you’re learning to cook at the fire house.”

“
Well, don’t get too excited. So far, my repertoire only includes the smoke eaters’ holy trinity: spaghetti, chili and mac and cheese.”

“Tha
t’s three more dishes than I can whip up,” I said.

“Speaking of food,” Hatch said. “I’m hungry.
How about I pull out some cheese and crackers and you get us a bottle wine from my stash? Pick something that goes with brie.”

Okay, the verdict was in. Nobody was willing to eat my cooking, but I was gaining something of a reputation as a sommelier.
Fine with me. After all, fruit’s always been my favorite food group.

CHAPTER
8

When Kaili showed up the next morning she’d toned down the scary a few notches. She still had green hair, but she’d combed it straight back into a chubby ponytail at the nape of her neck. And she wore a wide black stretchy headband to keep the strays at bay. She’d lightened up on the Goth make-up a bit, too. Her face was still Casper-the-Ghost white, but the thick black eyeliner had been replaced by what modern brides refer to as “smoky eye,” and I could make out a thin sheen of gloss on her lips instead of the black tar-like substance she’d coated them with the day before.

“Hi,” she said in a sprightly voice. “What do you think?” She twirled around like a bride showing off a six-foot lace train.

“You look good.” I refused to say, “great” because she still had quite a ways to go.

“
Aunt Lani gave me some lip gloss.” She smacked her lips and made a “mmm-wah”’ sound.

“Very good.
The gloss makes your teeth look really white.” I was used to “finding the good” when dealing with brides who were, shall we say, “appearance-challenged.” An annoying spray of acne across the cheeks, a too-wide waistline due to a failed diet, or a so-called “lazy eye” that wouldn’t properly line up in the socket were artfully ignored as I commented on a girl’s lovely smile, glossy hair, or perfect manicure.

“What’ll we be doing today?” Kaili said.

“I’ve got a few things to clear up here in the shop and then we’re off to work with vendors. I think you’ll like it.”

“Sounds great,” she said. Even her attitude seemed to have lightened up.

We puttered around the shop until noon. I had her inventory a small box of sample bridesmaid gifts that had come in, and then the two of us tackled a more or less deep cleaning of the front of the shop—floors, wall smudges, and Windexing the glass cases inside and out.

At lunchtime I ran next door to get quick sandwiches at the Gadda.
We ate quickly and then went out to my car to make our rounds to the vendors. At each stop, the vendors hugged me and chatted about personal stuff—inquiring after my brother, Steve, Farrah, and Hatch before ever mentioning a word about business. In about an hour and a half we’d visited a print shop, an alterations lady and two florists.

As Kaili got back in the car she said, “Whew. It sure takes time to get anything done around here. In LA we could’ve been in and out of those places like
that
.” She snapped her fingers. “But everybody here is like, ‘Oh, so happy to see you. Give me a hug. How’s your family? Sit down and tell me your life story.’ It’s a pretty slow way to do business.”

“That’s why I’m taking you around
like this. I want you to see how things work over here. I’ve seen most of these people within the past couple of weeks, but still they take time to be friendly. They aren’t just focused on whether I bring them any business; they care about
me
. That’s one of the important things you need to learn if you want to blend in.”

“So, you’re saying if I want to get along at school I’ve got to act like you do? You
know, suck up and pretend to care about all this stupid stuff? Like you really wanted to know if that printer guy’s kid got the job he was going for, or the seamstress lady’s granddaughter won that soccer game?”

“Close, but no bull
‘s-eye,” I said. “I don’t
pretend
to care. In Hawaii, people actually
do
care.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“There’s an old saying, ‘Fake it ‘til you make it.’ This is the time to act as if the kids at your school are important to you. As if you’re interested in their lives and what they’re feeling. Before you know it, you will be.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They’ll probably see right through it and call me a phony.
Or, more likely, a phony
bitch
.”

Our last stop of the day was in Kula,
further up the mountain beyond Doug’s house in Pukalani.

“Where are we going?”
Kaili said.

“To my cake maker’s place.
She’s old-school Hawaiian. Nothing I can say will make the point any better than you meeting Keahou.”

As I’d imagined, even though I’d failed to call ahead and alert Keahou we were coming, she greeted us at the door like we were long lost relatives.

“Oh my sweet
ku’uipo
!” Keahou said. “So good to see my favorite girl! Whatcha been doin’?”

“I brought a friend up to see you, Keahou,” I said. “This is
Kaili. She’s Sifu Doug’s niece from Honolulu. She’s helping me out this week.”

Keahou stepped forward and pulled Kaili into a hug. She tightly wrapped her to her bountiful breast and slightly swayed as she murmured Hawaiian words even I couldn’t understand.

“That means, I’m so happy to meet you and welcome you to my home,” she said. “You are
‘ohana
to our
sifu
. He must be so proud of you.”

Kaili shot me a look as if questioning Keahou
’s sincerity.

“Oh, he is, A
untie,” I said. “Very proud.”

“What a
lani wahine
. So very pretty. Don’t you think so, Pali?”

I nodded. Seems the green hair
and chalk-white face hadn’t dampened Keahou’s assessment of Kaili’s beauty. Or maybe she, too, was used to “finding the good.”

We chatted and I explained to Keahou how Kaili was a recent transplant from the mainland and she’d been having some trouble adjusting.

“Ah, Honolulu. It’s not easy there. Did Pali tell you stories about when she go over there? Lots of people there. Most are nice; some not so nice.”

“It’s not so much the big city, Keahou,” I said
, before I realized Kaili could probably speak for herself. “It’s the difference between Hawaiian ways and mainland ways.”

“Ah. Well, not so much different. In both places, good is good. Here’s what you need to know:
‘
ohana
first. And, in Hawaii, everybody ‘
ohana
!”

She invited us in for cake and guava juice and we stayed another ten minutes. I checked the clock on the wall and said
, unfortunately, we had to leave.

“I told Sifu Doug I’d have her back home by five,” I said.

“Okay. I let you go quick this time. But next time, you stay longer. Oh, before you go, I got some stuff for you to take.”

Keahou loaded us up with
a coffee cake, a jelly roll, a coconut cream, or
haupia
, pie with a tall pile of meringue, and six cupcakes.

“How many folks you got in your
‘
ohana
?” Keahou said to Kaili.

Kaili looked puzzled.

“There are five people at Doug’s now,” I said. “Kaili and her two
keiki
cousins, and her Uncle Doug and Auntie Lani.”

“Okay. Then you need two more cupcakes.” She piled them on.
“That makes eight. Five for Doug’s
‘ohana
and one each for you, Steve, and Hatch.”

We juggled the treats out to my Mini Cooper and
I secured everything on the small ledge in the hatchback.

“Who was that lady again?” said Kaili.

“That was Keahou, my wedding cake maker.”

“But she never talked about wedding cakes,” said Kaili.

“Do you think I’d ever take my business elsewhere?” I said.

“Probably not.”
Then she nodded as if she’d just solved the riddle of the Sphinx.

***

I dropped Kaili off at Doug’s right at five o’clock. That gave me just enough time to dash down to the Gadda and grab a couple bottles of wine before heading home. Farrah raised an eyebrow as she rang up my choices. I wasn’t sure if the eyebrow was because I’d spent too much or not enough, but I was in too much of a hurry to care.

I roared up Baldwin Avenue toward home, pushing the Mini until the little engine whined in annoyance. I kept an eye out for Maui’s finest. Now that I knew being a local wasn’t going to
necessarily grant me a “get out of jail free” card I’d need to be more observant. I made it home in twenty minutes flat.

Steve was in the kitchen when I came through the back door.

“I thought you’d be down at the Ball and Chain,” I said.

“And good evening to you as well,” he said. He was tossing a salad with wooden salad servers that looked like hands. “I’m finishing up this salad for your party and then I’ll be heading out.”

“How’d you know I was having a dinner party?”

“I’ve got ears, don’t I? Don’t you realize anything that’s said at the Gadda might as well be broadcast over loudspeakers? Farrah can’t sneeze without half of Pa’ia yelling ‘gesundheit’.”

“
Mahalo
for the salad,” I said. “So I suppose you know what she’s bringing for dinner?”

“She’s picking up a couple of pizzas at ‘Pi R Squared.’ You can bet they’ll be vegetarian.”

“Which Hatch hates.”

“Yeah.
That’s why you’ll find some pre-cooked turkey sausage—the Italian style—in the refrigerator. Throw some on his side of the pizza before you put it in the oven.”

I gave Steve a quick peck on the cheek but he swiped it away. “Let’s not get sentimental over chopped lettuce and turkey scraps. I’m leaving now but I’ll be back by midnight.”

I took what Auntie Mana called a ‘spit shower,’ a quick wash-up at the bathroom sink. It hit the high points but didn’t get my hair wet. I slipped into a clean pair of crop pants and was buttoning my favorite teal-colored shirt when the doorbell rang.

“Coming,” I said. I checked the kitchen clock as I hurried to the door. Ten minutes ‘til seven. Since when had it become fashionable in Hawaii to show up early?

I opened the door. “Hey, you’re—”

I stopped right there. The person glaring down at me from the other side of the door wasn’t anyone I was expecting for dinner.

CHAPTER 9

The guy looked about seven feet tall. In his lifetime he’d pro
bably heard every variation of “How’s the weather up there” and “I bet you play basketball,” so I politely chose not to comment.

“Can I help you?” I said.

“I’ve come to get my daughter.”

“And you
r daughter would be…?”

“You know damn well who my daughter is. You’re helping her marry that hula dancer kid.”

I was unclear about the hula reference, but it didn’t take a Sherlock to figure out his daughter was Lili.

“You mean Lili Kapahu?”

“Yeah. I’m here to take her home.”

“And you’re…?”

“Do you mind if I come in?” he said. “I feel like a fool standing out here entertaining your neighbors.”