Right from the Gecko (20 page)

“We grow a little here on our farm. We also roast Kona coffee that's grown on the Big Island.”

“Kona coffee is generally considered the best, isn't it?”

Makiko smiled. “We get a little competition from Blue Mountain, which is grown in Jamaica. But Kona coffee is rated number one or number two in the world.”

“Why is that?” I asked. I moved on to the Hula Pie variety, already realizing that picking out one or two favorites wouldn't be easy. “Or is that some kind of trade secret?”

“It's no secret,” she replied, “mainly because none of it is in our control. Our coffee is of such high quality because of six factors: soil, altitude, slope, the amount of sunshine, the amount of cloud cover, and the island's rainfall.” From the way she rattled off the short list, I got the feeling she'd given this explanation before.

“It sounds like a pretty idyllic life,” I commented, finishing that one off and picking up another. “Living on Maui on such an incredibly beautiful piece of property, running your own business…”

“It's been wonderful,” Makiko said wistfully, glancing around. “I really do love this place. Like you say, it's beautiful and peaceful, and I always liked the idea of owning a piece of land. It seemed so…substantial. Like we had something that mattered.

“And my husband, Peter, and I always loved running our own business. Especially growing coffee. There were never very many of us on Maui, but we always felt we were producing something really special.”

Is it my imagination? I wondered, or is she using the past tense an awful lot?

I was trying to formulate a tactful way of questioning her when she added, “Which is why it's so sad that we're going out of business.”

“Really?” I tried to hide my surprise. “Maybe I'm being too much of a busybody, but why?”

“We sold our land to a big company. They offered us a ridiculously large amount of money. Way more than market value. Peter and I discussed it for days, but in the end there was no way we could say no.” Quickly, she added, “It's going to be used for a really good purpose, though.”

It was time to ask the $64,000 question. “I don't suppose the company is FloraTech, is it?”

She looked surprised. “Yes. How did you know?”

“I guessed. I heard the company just came to Maui recently, and I understand they're planning to grow hibiscus.” Thinking fast, I added, “Some people at the veterinary conference were talking about it because FloraTech has apparently come up with some really exciting developments in the medical field.”

“That's our understanding too,” Makiko said. Still sounding a bit defensive, she added, “Besides, we're not the only ones who've decided to sell our land to FloraTech. The farmers here on Maui are a pretty tight group—not only the coffee growers but also the people who grow papayas and macadamia nuts and even the flowers that are used for leis. You know, a lot of us own land that's been in our families for generations. We've loved the idea of carrying on a tradition that's been part of this island for so long. It's made us feel as if we were part of something much bigger than ourselves.”

Her voice had grown thicker. Glancing up, I saw that her eyes were glassy with tears. She wiped them away, then shrugged. “But I guess it's time to move on. Progress and all that.”

I tried to think up something reassuring to say. For some strange reason, I couldn't.

Fortunately, Makiko took over.

“Let me show you around,” she offered. “If you're done tasting the coffee, I mean.”

“I am done, and it was great. I'm going to buy a few bags to bring home.”

As I followed Makiko outside, I became mesmerized. I inhaled deeply, smelling the rich, damp earth as I took in the dark slopes, the thick cover of coffee trees, and the pale-blue sky dotted with white clouds.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been surrounded by such beauty. Or felt such a sense of serenity. For a few moments, my mind felt totally clear.

“You're right, Makiko,” I told her, noticing that my voice also sounded strained. “This really is a little piece of paradise, right here on earth.”

We stepped back inside long enough for me to buy several pounds of different varieties of coffee for Nick and me, figuring they'd make a great way to bring a little bit of paradise home with us. Still, a wave of sadness came over me as I paid for what I knew were some of the last bags Makiko and her husband would be selling.

As I got back in the car, I felt sobered by what I'd learned.

Maybe that was what Marnie was writing about, I thought. The idea that land that had been in the same families for generations was being sold to a megacorporation, an organization that came to Maui from somewhere else. And the fact that the farmers who had been living off the land and truly valuing the experience, people like Makiko Cooper, now had to switch gears in order to find something new to do while they left behind something they truly loved.

It was certainly a big story. Yet it didn't strike me as big enough to get Marnie killed.

I was about to beep the remote to unlock my car when I suddenly heard the rustle of leaves. Instinctively I turned. I half-expected to see Makiko's cat, Kona, emerging from the bushes.

Nothing.

“Hello?” I called, certain of what I'd heard.

There was no response. I hesitated for a few seconds, listening closely, before deciding that I must have imagined it, after all. Or that maybe the island breezes were playing tricks on me.

Still, as I climbed into the Jeep, I couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling that I was being watched.

You've got to rein in that imagination of yours, I told myself resolutely as I turned back onto Kula Highway. No one is following you and no one is watching you. Not out here in the middle of nowhere.

The real culprit, I decided, was too much caffeine.

Even so, there was definitely something to be said for the rush of energy that had come from my mid-morning infusion of coffee. I actually found myself looking forward to my next stop.

Even though the second spot I planned to visit was considerably further down on Marnie's list, I'd chosen it because it was only a few miles away from Aloha Farm. According to her notes, the Spirit of Pele Plantation was owned by Wesley Nakoa and consisted of 3.75 acres. There was nothing I could see about it that seemed significantly different from Makiko's property.

One thing that was different, however, was that Marnie had scrawled the word
NO
in the margin next to this listing. Hopefully, I'd soon find out what separated the
YES
's from the
NO
's.

The drive to the Spirit of Pele Plantation took me through Makawao. Thanks to Nick's guidebook, I knew it had begun as a cowboy town that served the cattle ranches surrounding it.

Sure enough, as I drove through town, I felt as if I'd stumbled upon the set for a western. The wooden buildings that lined the main street, Baldwin Avenue, were almost all only one story high, many with wooden facades that jutted up above the flat roofs, Dodge City–style. Several had wooden porches running along the entire front. I even spotted a few hitching posts.

But the quaint village had clearly moved into the twenty-first century. Makawao may have still held a big rodeo and parade every Fourth of July weekend, but it was also the home of galleries, a health-food store, and a visual-arts center.

As I turned down a side road on the outskirts of town, however, I abruptly received a harsh reminder that I hadn't come to Upcountry Maui to sightsee. Halfway down the dirt road, I was confronted by a large, crude-looking sign posted on a tree. It was made from a jagged-edged piece of corrugated cardboard covered with black handwritten letters:
HAWAIIAN LANDS ARE NOT FOR SALE!

Ten feet down the road I spotted a second sign, done in the same artistic style. This one read,
KEEP OUT! PROPERTY PROTECTED BY SMITH
&
WESSON
!

A knot the size of a papaya was already forming in my stomach. Anxiously, I checked Marnie's notes, wanting to be sure this really was the Spirit of Pele Plantation. Sure enough, this was the place.

“You can do this,” I told myself. I only hoped the reason the person who owned this piece of land didn't exactly welcome visitors wouldn't turn out to be that he was growing something illegal.

Still, it was a definite possibility. Which explained why I felt even more apprehensive as I reluctantly climbed out of the Jeep.

As I shielded my eyes from the sun and surveyed the property, I could hear the threatening bark of what sounded like a very large dog somewhere on the property. The main house, a good hundred yards back from the road, was half hidden by overgrown bushes and trees. But even the dense tropical growth didn't hide the fact that it was desperately in need of a paint job. The only other building I could see was a garage with two broken windows and a roof that appeared to be on the verge of caving in.

Spirit of Pele—or Temple of Doom? I thought.

Still, I wasn't about to let the owner's obvious need for a few hours in front of the TV, receiving some sorely needed guidance from the experts on the Home and Garden Channel, get in my way. A big, barrel-chested dog didn't deter me either, since I'd certainly dealt with my share of those. I tugged on the old wooden gate that separated Wesley Nakoa's property from the road. As I did, a chunk of rotting wood came loose in my hand.

I took a deep breath before stepping onto Mr. Nakoa's property. I was fully aware that I was violating any trespassing laws the state of Hawaii happened to have in place. If Wesley Nakoa chose to prosecute, he'd have the government on his side.

But I'd come this far, and I wasn't about to let a fear of spending the rest of my vacation in a Hawaiian jail get in my way. Not with so much at stake, including my own safety.

Cautiously I moved along the path—really a hap-hazard scattering of rocks that was nearly obscured by weeds—taking care not to twist my ankle. The barking continued, resonating louder in my ears with each step I took.

Once I was on the property, I saw that there was a lot more happening on this land than I'd realized. Behind the dilapidated structures were acres of farmland planted with vegetables. The even, carefully planted rows that were obviously tended with meticulous care contrasted sharply with the ramshackle buildings.

My heartbeat quickened when I spotted someone in the distance. Even from this far away, I could see he was probably in his sixties, his face leathery from both age and too much time in the sun. Beside him stood a large mixed-breed dog with matted, dark-brown fur and that big chest I could tell he had from his bark. The man's clothes reminded me of a scarecrow's. The cuffs of his loose, ill-fitting khaki pants were caked with mud, and his pale-blue cotton shirt was torn in several places. He wore his big straw hat pulled down low so that it almost covered his eyes. The crown was ripped and the brim hung limply, no doubt from years of wear. His posture was stooped and his hands were gnarled.

“Mr. Nakoa?” I called, trying to sound friendly.

But as I took a few steps closer, I saw that his eyes were filled with fire. I also realized he was pointing a double-barrel shotgun right at me.

Chapter
12

G
et the hell off my property!” the man demanded in a coarse, gravelly voice.

I swallowed hard. Frankly, I was finding it a little difficult to make conversation while a gun was pointed straight at me. That dog looked and sounded pretty serious too. “I'm looking for Mr. Nakoa,” I finally managed. “Wesley Nakoa.”

“Quiet, Poto!” he snapped at his dog. Surprisingly, the animal obeyed. At least, he did after one more sharp bark, followed by a whimper that made it quite clear he wasn't happy about doing so. The man turned his focus back to me. “You found him. Whaddya want?”

He's not really going to shoot you, I told myself. He's just trying to scare you.

And doing a mighty fine job of it too.

Still, clinging to the idea that this man's bark was probably worse than his bite, I forced myself to march right up to him. I tried to carry myself with dignity, along with a confidence I didn't come close to feeling.

As I got nearer, I saw that he was older than I'd first assumed. Seventies, or even eighties. His face was as dry as the arid red dirt of the Haleakala crater and crisscrossed with an even greater number of lines than the desertlike terrain. But his pale hazel eyes were bright and filled with the same fire the dormant volcano had once spewed.

I stuck out my hand. “Hello, Mr. Nakoa. My name is Jessica Popper. I live on the mainland, where I work as a veterinarian.” The words kept flowing, practically out of my control, as I desperately tried to defuse some of the tension hanging in the air, especially in the small amount of space between that gun and me. “I'm here on Maui for just a few days, attending a veterinary conference. But I was wondering if you'd be willing to talk to me about a conversation I believe you recently had with Marnie Burton.”

I don't know which phrase I used that turned out to contain the magic words, but he finally lowered his gun.

“You mean that reporter, right?” He pulled the brim of his straw hat down further. Not much of his eyes showed, but his scowl sure did.

“Yes. Marnie worked for the
Maui Dispatch.
” I hesitated. “I don't know if you heard about what happened to her, but she—”

“She was killed, right? They killed her.”

His words had the same effect on me as if he'd struck me with the barrel of his shotgun.

“What do you mean, ‘they killed her'?” I demanded, feeling my cheeks grow warm. “Who?”

“How do I know you're not working with them?” he replied angrily, narrowing his eyes.

“Mr. Nakoa, you've got to trust me when I tell you I don't know who you're talking about.”

“You expect me to believe that? Get off my property! I'm not afraid to use this gun! Not when somebody's trespassing on my land!”

“If you'd just let me explain—”

“Can't you people read? This land isn't for sale! Now get the hell out of here before I make you! And don't think I won't!”

I held up both hands, palms out, as if somehow that would enable me to ward off his anger if not any actual bullets that happened to come my way. “All right, Mr. Nakoa. I'm leaving. And, uh, thanks for your time.”

I turned and headed back along the path, this time moving a lot faster than I had on my way in.

As I opened the car door, I realized my hands were shaking. So much for the tough-girl act.

Still, once I was safe in my own car, I began to calm down. And to puzzle over Wesley Nakoa's situation. On the one hand, it seemed to me that if the old man had a chance to unload this dump—for a tremendously inflated price, no less—he'd be crazy not to jump at the chance. There were definitely advantages to moving to an air-conditioned condo or some other modern residence that didn't require constant care, especially since he didn't seem to be up to it. On the other hand, this was his home.

Besides, maybe there was another side to it. Maybe he knew something about FloraTech. Or he could have simply been anti-progress or anti–big business or anti any number of things.

Of course, there was one more possibility: that Wesley Nakoa was just crabby and that there was no rational explanation for anything he did.

I was about to put the car into drive and take off when a loud rapping on the window made me jump.

I jerked my head around, expecting to see Wesley Nakoa's angry face. Instead, a tense-looking woman stood hunched over the driver's side of the Jeep, peering in at me.

“Excuse me?” she called. “If I could just have a minute…”

Curious, I rolled down the window. But only a few inches.

“I'm Lila Nakoa. Wesley's daughter. I wanted to apologize.”

I could already feel myself relaxing. She didn't look much older than I was, but the fine lines in her face and the furtiveness in her green eyes gave the impression that she'd experienced a lot more than I had. She was dressed in tight, low-slung jeans and a bright orange shirt. It was made of stretchy fabric and cut low enough to show ample cleavage, as well as part of a tattoo. I couldn't quite make out what the image was, however. Her strawberry blond hair, piled up and fastened with a plastic tortoiseshell clip, was a bit too brassy to complement her dark eyebrows and medium skin tones. She'd applied makeup with a heavier hand than just about anyone else I'd encountered on the island.

“Sorry my father was so rude,” she said with a rueful smile. “I happened to be standing in the kitchen, and I overheard everything he said to you.”

“He seems pretty angry,” I commented, opening the window the rest of the way. “But I understand him being protective of his land.”

“He's lived here his whole life.” Lila stood up straight, shielding her eyes with her hand as she gazed out at the field beyond the small house. “My dad's one of those independent types. Never worked for anybody else, never had a desk job.” She laughed. “Could you see him selling insurance or working at Home Depot?”

I smiled. “Not really.”

“I mean, just look at the name he chose for his farm. Spirit of Pele. I think that pretty much says it all, don't you?”

I shook my head to say that, as surprising as it may have seemed, I had absolutely no idea who Pele was or what the reference to his or her spirit was all about.

“Sorry. I guess I forget that not everybody is familiar with Hawaiian legends the way those of us who live here are. My dad's been telling me the story since I was a little kid. The legend goes that there were two sisters named Pelehonuamea and Hi'iaka who lived in a volcano, Kilauea, on the Big Island. Pele sent her sister to find her lover, Lohi'au. After this long, terrifying adventure, filled with battles and demons and all kinds of obstacles, Hi'iaka finally found him—and fell in love with him herself.

“When Pele found out, she killed her lover and destroyed everything her sister loved. That included burning down the 'ohi'a trees, which have bright, beautiful flowers. Then Hi'iaka learned what Pele had done and finally got the strength to stand up to her sister.

“According to legend, the fight between the two of them continues to this day. Pele is still angry, and she keeps shooting lava out of the volcano, which destroys everything it touches. But when the lava cools, it creates lava beds where new 'ohi'a trees grow. So Pele and Hi'iaka symbolize the cycle of destruction and rebirth.

“In other words, Pele is all about anger.” She smiled apologetically. “Look, I know my dad comes across as a mean old goat. But don't take it personally. He acts the same way whenever those men from FloraTech come around too. Of course, they have a totally different agenda.”

My ears pricked up the same way my dogs' ears do whenever they hear something of interest. Only in their case, it's usually the crinkling of the plastic wrap on food or critical words like
walk
or
ball.
“Do you know what they talked about?” I asked Lila.

“Buying his land, of course. They're desperate to get their hands on it. Apparently they discovered that hibiscus has some medicinal value, and they plan to make a bundle off it. They need as much room to grow it as they can get.” She shook her head, grinning. “But when it came to my dad, they had no idea what they were dealing with.”

“What about you?” I asked. “How do you feel about your dad holding on to this land? Aren't you anxious to keep it in the family?”

“Oh, I don't live here anymore,” Lila told her. “To be perfectly honest, after growing up on this farm, I've had enough of it. Nowadays I got a place of my own over in Wailuku. I work at the Maui Sunrise Hotel. I'm a hostess at the lounge over there, the Silver Surf.” She thought for a second, then added, “I keep telling him he should sell it. Especially with everything that's been going on around here.”

The hardness in her voice startled me. “What do you mean?”

Once again, she reacted with surprise. “I guess you haven't heard about the heavy-handed tactics those FloraTech people have been using.”

I wondered if I should mention that Makiko Cooper seemed to feel they were pretty fair when it came to buying her farm. But I just shook my head.

“It's hard to know how much of it's true, of course,” Lila commented. “Sometimes people exaggerate, especially some of the older folks. My dad's not the only person around here who feels strongly about holding on to his land. But I heard one story about FloraTech sending a bunch of goons to drive heavy vehicles over one man's farm in the middle of the night, destroying his papaya plants. Somebody else insists FloraTech sprayed some kind of poison on their land.”

Before I had a chance to exclaim with surprise, she shrugged and added, “Like I say, it's hard to separate fact from fiction. But all that aside, there's no excuse for my father to act like that.” Glancing back over her shoulder at the house, “Sometimes I wonder if I should find a way to make him sell the land and send him someplace else to live. Someplace where there are people who can take care of him. If they could put up with him, that is.”

“What about Marnie Burton?” I asked. “She's the reporter from the
Maui Dispatch
who was murdered. I understand she spoke to your dad just a few days before she was killed. Do you know why she was interested in your father—or why she was interested in FloraTech, for that matter?”

“Beats me,” Lila replied. “All I know is that a large biomedical company like FloraTech setting up shop on Maui is a big deal for most people. It represents a lot of the stuff people live here in order to get away from. I guess she was interested in writing about that.

“Of course, it could have been something much worse,” she added, sounding as if she was speaking more to herself than to me.

“Like what?” I asked cautiously.

“Maybe she was—I don't know, trying to defend them.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow.”

“The newspaper she worked for, the
Maui Dispatch
?” Lila said. “Over the past few weeks, it's published a few letters from readers, saying that FloraTech coming here was the best thing that ever happened to Maui, blah, blah, blah. Let's hear it for progress and big business and all that. A lot of people got angry over the way the newspaper seemed to be defending FloraTech. So the fact that Marnie Burton was working for the paper kind of made people distrust her.”

“Including your dad,” I observed.

“Exactly.”

Of course, there are two sides to every story—which is especially important for people in the newspaper business. I wondered if the
Maui Dispatch
had really come out in favor of FloraTech or if Richard Carrera was just trying to be fair by allowing people with different viewpoints to air their opinions. After all, I'd expect that was the responsibility of a newspaper's managing editor.

Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for Marnie. Given what I'd heard about the ambitious young reporter's determination to ferret out corruption and expose scandal, it didn't seem unreasonable to assume that that was precisely what she'd been trying to do in this instance—whether her efforts were warranted or not.

Even so, had the mere fact that she wrote for a newspaper that, at the moment, was less than popular made certain people see her as the enemy?

Or maybe even a target?

I encountered some serious traffic as I headed south along Mokulele Highway, but I was glad to have the chance to think—mainly about FloraTech. I couldn't help suspecting there was a connection between Marnie's determination to pursue a story about the new biotech firm and her death. FloraTech was more than just a new company that was setting down roots on Maui. Given the way it was aggressively buying up land, the firm's arrival was having a tremendous effect on the island's residents. And Marnie appeared to be smack in the middle of it—or at least trying to put herself there.