O'ahu Lonesome Tonight? (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series #5) (4 page)

“Everything’s
going great,” he said. “I can’t talk long. I’m packing for tomorrow. Looks like
I don’t have much stuff here in Maui that will work in Montana. I’ll need to
buy some new things when I get there.”

“Don’t they
wear the same kind of gear you wear over here?”

“Gear, yeah.
But I’m talking off-duty clothes. I’ll probably need a cowboy hat.”

The image of
Hatch in a cowboy hat came to mind. “If you do, bring it home with you. I can
think of some fun times we could have with me, you, and the hat.”

“Hey, cut me
some slack here. I miss you enough already.”

We said our
‘love
you’s
’ and ‘miss
you’s
’
and then we hung up. A few minutes later the arrivals board clicked over to
show Jeff’s flight was finally on approach. I got up and had my little ‘moment’
with the gate agent and then they opened the
jetway
door.

I watched the
passengers disembark and it seemed as if the entire capacity of Aloha Stadium
was streaming through the door. How had so many people fit inside one plane?
Finally, I saw Jeff’s grin. He waved and I had to restrain myself from
trampling a few weary travelers in my haste to get to him.

“You’re late,”
I said.

“Believe me, I
know. It was like a clown car in there it was so tight. Everybody moaning and
groaning over the delay and me stuck in a middle seat. I may want to think
about hopping a freighter to go back.”

We hugged.

“So, look at
you,” he said. “You did something to your hair.”

“I washed it.”

“No, it’s
different.
More blond.”

My light coloring
is a sore subject. I was born and raised in the islands but I always get
mistaken for a
haole
, a stranger. Hazel green
eyes and brown-to-blond hair are not what comes to mind when a person talks
about a
kama’aina
, the Hawaiian word for a
local person.

“If it’s
lighter than last time, it must’ve gotten sun-bleached,” I said. “You know me.
I’m not big on personal services.” It’s kind of funny. I’m known by most of the
stylists at the first-class hair and nail salons on Maui because month after
month I book dozens of brides and bridesmaids to get glammed up for their
wedding. But when my own hair gets to dragging in my eyes I stop in at the
ten-dollar chop shop in the mall.
And my nails?
Well,
let’s just say I’ve got a bad habit that keeps them plenty short.

“It’s great to
be
back
home,” Jeff said, looking around at all the
people wearing lei and aloha shirts.

“I’m sorry I
didn’t get you
a lei
,” I said. “I remembered it when I
was on the plane. But then I realized if I went outside to the lei stands I wouldn’t
be able to get back in through security. And, although I adore you beyond
words, I’m not willing to pay tourist prices at these airport shops.”

“
Mahalo
, but we don’t need
no
stinkin
’ lei,” he said.

We both
laughed. It was an inside joke with us. When Jeff graduated from high school,
everyone brought armfuls of lei (the plural is the same as the singular) to
drape over the graduates. One kid, a beefed-up wrestler from a hard-scrabble
family on Moloka’i, didn’t have family members attending so he wasn’t wearing
any lei. Jeff saw him hunched in a corner and went over to offer him a couple
of his lei. The wrestler uttered the now-famous line, followed by a toothy grin
and a fist-bump. The line became Jeff’s and my ‘go-to’ mantra when something
was no big deal.

“Do we need to
stop at baggage claim?” I said looking down at his tiny carry-on.

“Any baggage
I’ve got is purely psychological,” he said. “No, seriously, this is all I
brought.”

I marveled at
his ability to cram a week’s worth of everything into a bag that would fit
under an airline seat.

“Then let’s
roll,” I said.

“So I hear you
bought a new car,” he said, starting off with an easy subject.

“Yeah,” I said.
“It’s funny though. I had the Geo since college. It was the bane of my
existence, but every now and then I sort of miss it. You know, like you’d miss
a rheumy old dog
who
peed on the floor all the time
but now it’s gone to dog heaven.”

“Don’t talk to
me about dogs,” Jeff said. “Jack totally freaked when I took him to the kennel
last night.”

“He doesn’t
like the kennel?”

“It’s right
next to the vet’s. To Jack, anything within five miles of the place where he
lost his manhood is suspect.”

“I hope he’s
okay.”

“He’s fine. Get
this.” Jeff pulled out his cell phone and pointed to an app with an icon of a
grinning cartoon dog. “I can tap in to Doggie Cam anytime I want and see what
Jack’s up to.”

“Why?”

“To make me feel better.”

“But what if
he’s howling in distress? Or cowering in a corner?”

“Then he’ll
have to learn to man up.”

“But you said
you had his manhood snipped. And anyway, are you planning to spend your
vacation looking at your dog?” I said.

“Not a chance.
But I couldn’t let the people at the kennel think I was a bad pet parent, so I
went ahead and downloaded it. They were real proud of the technology.”

We walked out
of the terminal into the din of six lanes of traffic. It was dark and hot since
the lower level is covered by a concrete canopy that leads to the parking
structure.

“What kind of
rental car did you get?” Jeff said.

“I’m not sure.
Something cheap.”

“Good.”

“I thought you
were big on cars,” I said. “Isn’t your new car a Beemer or a Lexus or
something?”

“Yeah, it’s a
Lexus. But that’s Livermore. I
gotta
make the lab
guys wonder if I’ve skipped a few pay grades. Keeps ‘
em
guessing.
” He smiled,
then
turned on his serious face. “But in the city you should drive a plain car. You
don’t want to draw attention.”

“This isn’t
exactly Mogadishu,” I said.

“I know. But
those yellow Mustang convertibles just scream
tourist onboard
and who
needs the hassle?”

The car turned
out to be exactly what Jeff had hoped for: a white Ford Focus with four doors,
gray cloth interior and an automatic transmission. I let him drive. Not because
he was the guy, but because I’m used to a manual. It’d take me a week to stop
slamming my left foot to the floorboard looking for a clutch.

We didn’t get a
GPS. Something about claiming
kama’aina
status
wouldn’t allow me to admit I didn’t know my way around. Which I didn’t, but
that was for me to know and the rest of
O’ahu
to figure
out.

We drove down
Nimitz Highway toward Waikiki. Any fool can find Waikiki; you just follow the
shuttle buses. We turned off
Kalakaua
Avenue at
Lewers
. The Trump Tower loomed one block over on our right.
There was nowhere to park the car, but a smiling valet popped out of the main
entrance as soon as we pulled up.

“Are you
staying with us?” he said.

Jeff and I both
nodded.

“Would you like
me to park your car?”

“Ask him how
much it costs,” I said under my breath.

Jeff turned to
me. “Who cares how much? We’re on vacation.”

I pinched his
arm. The last thing I was willing to cop to was being a Waikiki tourist.

“We’re visiting
from Maui,” I said leaning over Jeff to flash a smile at the valet. The guy
gave me a
shaka
, the thumb and pinkie salute
we use instead of a wave. “
Aloha.
Ho’okipa
to Waikiki.”

“
Mahalo
nui
loa
,” I replied. Tossing around the Hawaiian was like a
couple of dogs sniffing each other’s credentials.

“I’m
s’posed
to charge twenty bucks a day, but I’ll give you a
kama’aina
rate of ten,” he said. “That fair?”

“Very fair.
Mahalo
, man,”
said Jeff.

“No worries.”

We got out and
the guy handed Jeff a receipt. Then he whisked the Focus away to parts unknown.

We went inside,
hoping the frat brother had done okay for himself and his apartment reflected
it.

CHAPTER 6

The hotel lobby
was plain, with a wide expanse of dark blue carpet and plain white walls.
They’d tacked up a smattering of now-faded prints of beach scenes and muscled
guys paddling outrigger canoes but it still didn’t have the ‘Aloha, Welcome to
Hawaii’ look that tourists would probably like to see. The registration desk
was along the right side wall. The two clerks working there were chatting. One
was a small-statured Asian guy with glasses; the other an
ali’i
-size
local gal with an enormous halo of fuzzy black hair. I thought about the horror
stories we used to tell when we were kids about spiders building nests in
people’s hair, but then I told myself to knock it off.

Jeff stepped up
to the desk and the gal came over to talk to him.

“
Aloha
.
Welcome to the Waikiki Majestic,” she said. “Is this your first trip to the
islands?”

Jeff looked a
bit peeved. Since we both have our mom’s light coloring we’re used to being
mistaken for visitors, but it’s still annoying.

“No, I grew up
here.”

“In Honolulu?”

“No, Maui.”

“Ah. Everybody
loves Maui.” She smiled.
“You here on business?”

Did the
employee manual direct them to pry into their guests personal affairs? I think
not.

“No, I’m here
on a visit with my sister.” Jeff pointed to me.
“For a little
ohana
time together.”

The clerk
widened her smile. “That’s good. And you’re checking in?”

I wanted to
step up and say something snotty, like,
No, my brother and I have a bet you
could win in a smack-down with your co-worker here and we’re wondering if you’d
like to give it a shot
. But I didn’t.

Jeff nodded.
She asked his name and then pecked on her computer for a few seconds.

“Oh, you’re
staying in the penthouse. That’s Mr. Stanton’s place. Do you know Mr. Stanton
personally?”

I stepped out
of earshot to avoid saying something that would embarrass my brother. Instead,
I looked in at a tiny shop in the lobby that sold cheap aloha-wear and
kukui
nut lei. The clerk was rolling out racks of shirts
and tube dresses as if she’d just opened up for the day.

“You looking
for something special?” she said, zooming over to me and hovering so close I
had the urge to take a step back. Her eyes were wide.

“
Mahalo
, but I’m just browsing.”

Her eyebrows
knitted together as if she wasn’t sure if ‘browsing’ was another word for
‘shop-lifting.’ I don’t think English was her first language—or even Hawaiian,
for that matter.

“Just seeing
what you have,” I added.

She seemed to
relax a bit. “You want to see
matchy-matchy
?”

Now it was my
turn to look confused.

“You know, for
you and your husband.” She nodded toward Jeff, still dealing with the check-in
process. “I got
mu’u
mu’u
and aloha shirt,
matchy-matchy
. Everybody like.”

“Oh, no thank
you. And, that guy over there is my brother. Not my husband.” Now who was
spilling personal information?

“All the
betta
.
Family
matchy
.
Very nice.”

Jeff had turned
from the counter and was waving a folder at me. “I’ve got to run,” I said. “But
we’re staying here. I’ll be back if I need anything.”

“We got nice
kukui
nut. You buy one for your brother?”

What the heck?
I hadn’t gotten Jeff
a lei
at the airport. I could
kill two birds by presenting him with a
kukui
nut lei
and giving this nice lady her first sale of the day. It’s good luck to get a
sale soon after opening.

“Yes. I’ll get
a lei
.”

“Five
dolla
.
Or
three for ten.”

Why not? I was
on vacation. I picked out three
kukui
nut lei.
One black, one brown, and one a mixture of white and brown nuts.

“You can get
lannard
for one
dolla
,” she said.

“A what?”

“A
lannard
.
For
the pool.”
She held up a pink rhinestone-crusted lanyard. “You put the
card on the
lannard
. Then you don’t
forgot
.”

“Oh. No, thank
you. I won’t need a lanyard.”

I bought the
lei and joined Jeff. “
Aloha
kaikunane
,”
I said as I slipped the black
kukui
lei over my
brother’s head.
“
Ho’okipa
o Waikiki
.”

“Tossing around
the Hawaiian, are we? Well, I love you too, sister,” he said. “And I also
welcome you to Waikiki.”

We got in the
elevator and I punched the button for the top floor, number thirty. It seemed
to take forever to get there even though the elevator didn’t stop on any other
floors to get there.

“I’m not big on
elevators, you know,” I said as the number twenty-six flashed by on the digital
display.