Lana'i of the Tiger (The Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (7 page)

“No. But I’m the one who always
makes cakes for people in Lana’i City. You got a graduation, a birthday, any
stuff like that—I’m the one who makes the cake.”

“Nobody else?”

“Never needed nobody else for
the past five years.”

We chatted a little longer and
then we hung up.

I was about to call Tyler to see
if he’d be willing to pay to have a cake flown in from Honolulu when he came
crashing through the front door. His eyes told me I wasn’t going to like the
news he was bringing.

CHAPTER
7

Tyler plopped down on the sofa.
He didn’t say anything and neither did I. In the past couple of years, I’d learned
to read would-be bride’s moods so I knew in cases like this it was best to wait
and allow them to make the opening volley.

“She’s not gonna do it,” he
finally said.

“Not going to do what? Not going
to get married?”

“She’s not willing to getting
married
here
.”

“Oh.” I sat down across from
him.

“She’s already got everything
set up with the wedding coordinator up at the Four Seasons. She didn’t say a
damn word to me about it until we were flying back with the wedding license.”

“Well, okay. I understand.” Of
course it
wasn’t
okay, and I
didn’t
understand, but what could I
say?

“I’m so sorry, Penny. I know you
and Mr. Shu—”

“It’s actually Mr. Ho,” I broke
in. I usually don’t interrupt so abruptly, but it was my chance to show Tyler I
really wasn’t as okay with what was going on as I was pretending to be.

“It’s a different guy?”

“No, it’s the same guy. But in
Chinese culture the first name is the family name. Ho Wing Shu would be Mr. Ho,
not Mr. Shu.” I couldn’t believe I was nit-picking cultural niceties when what
I wanted to be saying was,
Speaking of ‘ho’, why on Earth are you marrying
that sneaky bitch
?

“Anyway, I’m really sorry about
this,” he said. “I’ll be happy to pay everyone…”

I probably should have assured
him I wouldn’t feel right taking any money since I didn’t provide him with a
wedding, but I didn’t. Even if I ended up declining my own commission, I wanted
to make sure Darryl and Ewa still got their thousand dollars for baby Ethan’s
college fund.

“What can I do?” he went on.
“Deedee says she’s always had her heart set on a formal wedding. Big white
dress, ballroom reception, catered dinner, you know—the whole fairy-tale
number. And she’s right. She deserves that.”

“But you’ve only invited a
handful of guests.”

“Nah, she’s pumped the guest
list up to about eighty. Most of ‘em are big-shots from her dad’s bank. Or her
mom’s tennis friends. Or Deedee’s friends from her cheerleading days at
college. So far, everybody’s said they’re coming. So what can I say? You gotta
admit, it’s not gonna be easy for her to be married to a guy like me.”

I wanted to correct him and say
that from where I sat, it looked like
he
was the one in for a tough go
of it.

“Well, these things happen,” I
said. I stood up. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m going to have to get on the
phone. I’ve got to make quite a few cancellations.”

He took the hint and slinked out
to his Jeep and took off. I sat down at the reception desk and looked over my
list of the folks I’d just finished hiring and now had to fire.

***

One of the hardest things about
being a
persona non grata
in the WITSEC program was I had no one to
commiserate with. Back home, I had my b/f/f Farrah Milton, my gay roommate
Steve, my on-again off-again boyfriend Hatch, and my
kung fu
instructor,
Sifu Doug—just to name a few. On Lana’i I had nobody.

Before I started making
cancellation calls I needed to calm down. I sat at the reservation desk and
flipped through the four-page visitor’s guide Ewa had compiled for guests.
She’d listed local restaurants, the historical museum, a smattering of gift
shops, and ‘natural wonders.’ I read about the Munro Trail, a dirt road that
goes to the top of the island to a place called Lana’ihale—the ‘house of Lana’i’.
I needed to get out. I craved fresh air and exercise. I promised myself I’d go
up there. But first, I needed to get on the phone.

It took me less than an hour to
call everyone. In most cases I was able to give them the bad news directly, but
a couple of times I had to leave a message. I hung up the phone and put the “Be
back by” sign—the one with the clock where you move the hands to the time
you’ll return—on the front door. I gave myself a couple of hours. If Tyler
returned, he had a pass key to the front door. If anyone else showed up, tough.
I wasn’t in a ‘guest relations’ mood anyway. I laced up my sneakers and headed
out.

Ewa’s tourist information said
the Munro Trail climbs to an elevation of thirty-three hundred feet, more than
sixteen hundred feet above Lana’i City, in just under thirteen miles. That’s
pretty steep, especially on foot. I wasn’t planning on tackling the whole
thing, however. At about the two and a half mile mark there’s a scenic
overlook, with a view down into Maunalei Gulch, one of the few naturally green
places on Lana’i. It also offers sweeping views across the channel to Maui. Just
the thought of being able to gaze on Maui again got my blood pumping.

The trail started near the Lodge
at Koele and wound through a forest of Cook Island pine trees. When I’d visited
the tiny Lana’i Historical Museum during my first week, the docent there told
me the trail was named for George Munro, a New Zealand naturalist who’d arrived
on Lana’i in 1890. At that time, the island was dry and barren, with only a
handful of Norfolk pines scattered here and there.

Munro noticed that the tree
branches dripped water as the trees extracted moisture from the humid air. He
came up with the idea to plant a forest of Norfolk pines at the higher
elevations as a kind of irrigation system. The trees would extract the water,
raising the water table and making agricultural crops possible. The trees would
also provide shade which would make Lana’i a more hospitable place for people
to live.

Munro arranged for ships coming
up from the South Pacific to bring Norfolk pines to the island. But when the
ships arrived they’d brought Cook Island pines instead of the Norfolk pines.
Turns out, it wasn’t a big deal. Both types had similar water-extracting capabilities.

I caught the shuttle van to go
to the Lodge. It was always an adventure riding the shuttle. Since rental cars
are scarce, and absurdly expensive, many visitors ride the shuttle to get from
one hotel to the other. Locals like me, who don’t have a car, sometimes use the
shuttle as well.  

On this particular ride I had a
two-person seat to myself but across the aisle was a visitor on a cell phone,
bellowing at his business associate on the mainland.

It’s amazing what you can learn
about someone in a six-minute ride. After a minute it was clear the guy on the
phone was a sports agent and he was negotiating a deal for a hockey player. I’d
never been to a hockey game—it’s not a popular sport in the tropics—nor had I
ever heard of the player the sports agent was talking about. But whoever he
was, he must have been some kind of star because negotiating his next year’s
contract involved shouting an unending string of four-letter words and veiled
threats. The sports agent’s significant other, seated next to him, stared out
the window pretending she wasn’t there. In her tidy pastel Ann Taylor
sweater-set and dyed-to-match capris she looked like the screaming guy’s
well-groomed nanny.

By the time we reached the Lodge
it appeared a deal had been struck, and the ‘Jerry Maguire’ of major league
hockey was pretty darn pleased with himself. He rubbed a thumb across the touch
screen, ending the call. Everyone on the van shot him major
stink eye
,
but he flashed back a grin that said, ‘
I just made a hundred grand in five
minutes. So, how’s your afternoon going?’

I stepped down from the van and
crossed the circular drive. Over by the parking area I found the sign that
pointed to the Munro Trail. As I skirted the north side of the Lodge property,
I marveled at the string of multi-million-dollar homes perched along the golf
course. The course is named The Experience at Koele. Seemed to me the biggest
‘experience’ the golf course offered was the opportunity to hand over three
hundred bucks to chase a little white ball around a pristine lawn.

The road went from blacktop to
dirt in pretty short order. As I jogged up the road, sniffing the crisp air and
savoring the smell of pine, I got to thinking. Maybe it was time to start
thinking about going home. Maybe the feds had already wrapped up their sting
operation but were waiting for the holidays to be over before calling the grand
jury into session. Maybe there was no longer a price on my head since the guys
who’d ordered me killed were already in custody.

By the time I slowed to a walk
to catch my breath, I had my plan in place. I’d stick around the White Orchid
until Darryl and Ewa came home because I’d promised I would. But as soon as
they were back, I’d call Wong and tell him I’d changed my mind. Then I’d hop on
the ferry back to Maui and take my chances.

I started jogging again while I
fine-tuned the plan. I wouldn’t make a big deal of it. No welcome home party,
no update on my Facebook page—simply a quiet re-entry into my former life. I
didn’t have any weddings booked, so I’d have no money coming in for a while,
but I’d survived before. Sifu Doug’s brother owned a successful
luau
company in Lahaina and my
sifu
would vouch for me to get a job there.
I’d cut and color my hair to change my appearance. Then I’d don a coconut shell
bra and trundle mai tais to tourists until I could sign up a few new wedding
clients. I’d make enough in tips to pay my mortgage, and besides, at home I had
a whole bunch of friends who’d help me out.

I got so wrapped up in my
homeward-bound reverie that, even with the steep incline, I came upon the
scenic lookout sooner than I’d expected. I slowed to a walk and went to the
edge to admire the view. Below was the vast green canyon known as Maunalei
Gulch. The gal at the museum said there were folks working down there restoring
the area to the way it was when the ancient Hawaiians lived and worked in the
gulch. Beyond the gulch was the Au’au Channel between Lana’i and West Maui. As
I gazed at Maui’s craggy mountains silhouetted against an iridescent blue sky,
my throat tightened. My sense of longing was so fierce it felt as if someone
was pressing a fist into my chest.

Oh yeah, it was definitely time
to go home.

CHAPTER
8

The jog back down the Munro
Trail took a lot less time than the trip up. Of course I was heading downhill,
but I was in such good spirits after deciding to go home, it probably would’ve
felt easy even if I’d been scaling a sheer rock cliff.

The Lodge at Koele came into
view and I saw the shuttle van heading down the driveway, back toward Lana’i
City. That meant I had at least a thirty-minute wait for the next one. I’d
already been gone almost two hours, so rather than wait I kept jogging down the
road back into town.

I arrived at the White Orchid
out of breath but within minutes of the time on the ‘be back by’ sign. I
unlocked the door and went inside. Tyler was nowhere in sight. The message
light on the answering machine was blinking, so I quickly dialed the retrieval
number.

You have three messages
,
the voicemail lady said in her no-nonsense tone.
First message, left today
at three fifty-three
. “Hello? We’d like to make a reservation? Hello?” The
message abruptly halted.

Next message, left today at
four twenty-nine
, “Hello, we’re the Bowman family. We’re down here at the
ferry dock and we’d like to know if you have room for us this evening. Party of
four. Two adults and two kids. Please call.” They left a phone number.

Next message, left today at
four-thirty-five
, “Hey, it’s us again, the Bowmans. We’re going to grab a
shuttle bus and come up there since we haven’t heard from you. If you don’t
have room we’ll go up to the Hotel Lana’i, but we’d rather stay at your B and
B. See you soon.”

I looked out the window and
spied a bedraggled little band of mother, father and two small boys coming into
the front courtyard. I dashed out to meet them.

“I’m so sorry I missed your
calls,” I said. “I was away for a couple of hours. I was just about to call you
back.”

“Not to worry,” the father said.
“We decided on a whim to take a quick trip over here from Maui. We’re just
staying one night. Can you put us up? I’m Ross, and this is my wife, Sarah, and
our boys, Miles and Morrie.” Miles looked about six and Morrie looked a year or
two younger. Both had curly brown hair that nearly reached their shoulders.
Even with their girlish mops of hair, their faces signaled they had the naughty
boy thing down cold.
Don’t listen to that guy,
their smirking expressions
told me, w
e’re the ones in charge
.

“
Ho’okipa
to the White
Orchid Bed and Breakfast,” I said. “Yes, we have a nice quad room available
this evening.”

Ross came inside and looked
around. I helped Sarah lug an overstuffed carry-on bag through the door, and
then held the door open for the boys. One of them (I wasn’t about to worry
about figuring out who was who for a one-night stay) stomped his sneaker onto
my bare foot as he came through the door. I winced, but didn’t give him the
satisfaction of crying out.

I checked them in and while I
was explaining the amenities, the boys ran screaming through the great room and
down the hall toward the guest rooms. They seemed to be playing some kind of
‘tag.’ It would have been a good way to burn off steam out in the yard, but not
so good inside the house. When one little guy toppled a stained-glass floor
lamp, Sarah turned to me and said, “Maybe you should put away some of these
fussy things. The boys could get hurt.”