Haole Wood (11 page)

Under the hot sun, I drew my sunshmina closer over my shoulders. Though I was cool and comfortably dry inside the sun-shielding fabric, I felt extremely uncomfortable. I peered out the side of my sunglass, and sure enough, a few Hawaiian women were staring me down. Maybe they liked my sunshmina? I turned to face them and they quickly turned away.

Hmm. I peeked over my shoulder. Another couple stared at me and didn’t even turn away as I faced them. Eyes forward, I tried to pay attention to the service, while trying to scope out suspicious characters. Hopefully I would be able to talk to Mike’s family and friends after the service. All of a sudden I felt a nudge at my elbow.

“Jac. Hey. What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d find you here and I wanted to make sure you were holding it together.”

“I’m fine.” I smiled way too inappropriately for a memorial service. “And look,” I spread my arms to show him my sunshmina, draped like protective wings. “My grandmother made it for me. My sunburn doesn’t hurt as bad anymore and I’m feeling a lot better.” Especially seeing Jac.

“Good. How’s Mrs. Park?”

“I called the jail this morning. Even though they said she’s doing fine, she has to be miserable, and scared. I’m going to see her this afternoon.”

He nodded. I sniffed, catching the fresh scent of his shampoo. Like most men there, he wore shorts and flip-flops. Unlike most men, he pulled it off. I tried not to stare.

“And thanks, Jac, for the lawyer recommendation. I talked to him, briefly.” And owe him a $1000 retainer check. I hoped he wouldn’t cash it right away—it would leave me with about $400 left in the bank. I tamped down that worry to focus on my mission at hand.

As soon as the service came to an end, everyone in the crowd reached out to hold hands during the final prayer. “
Ha’ale i ka la kamea mahana,”
the priest intoned. “He has left the warmth of the sun.” I was glad Jac was at my side and squeezed his hand in a silent thanks.

“Is that it?” I asked him.

“I think so,” he answered. “Now what?”

“I need to go talk to his parents.”

Jac shook his head. “Jaswinder, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not? I’ve got to find out everything I can. Maybe they know something. At least I need to say I’m sorry, and so is my grandmother, but I have to tell them she is not involved.”

Jac reached for my arm, but I pulled away and bumped myself through the crowd to head up front. I shimmied this way and that, slipping my sunshmina-covered shoulders past mourners who were standing around as if they weren’t quite sure what to do next.

I got close to a small huddle of people and asked a young Hawaiian boy if the man and woman standing about ten feet away from me were Mike Hokama’s parents. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, pointing at the well-dressed Hawaiian couple being comforted by the minister.

“Thanks.” Time to make my move.

“Hey,” the little kid said, looking at me like he knew me. Gosh, do people really think I’m some kind of celebrity in this hat and these sunglasses? Weird. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave and trudged forward through the sand.

Mike’s parents looked up as they noticed me coming. I slowed as Mrs. Hokama stared at me, hard. I took my sunglasses off before holding out my hand to take Mrs. Hokama’s. “Mr. and Mrs. Hokama, I am so sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Hokama bowed her head, but Mr. Hokama leaned in for a closer look.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Did Mike know you?”

Oh, boy. This was going to hurt them a lot more than it was going to hurt me. I swallowed, feeling the blood run away from my hands and feet, leaving me wobbly.

“I am Jaswinder Park. I think you know my grandmother and I wanted you to know how very, very sorry we are about what happened—”

Mrs. Hokama’s red, swollen eyes widened before she hauled off and slapped me full across the face, knocking off my hat. I grabbed my cheek. “Please! I’m sorry. My grandmother had nothing to do with this and I just wanted you to know . . . Ooof.” Mrs. Hokama flung herself at me, and knocked me back into the sand. I twisted and turned, trying to evade her punching fists, especially the one with the giant diamond ring set in deadly prongs. Her legs scissored wildly, like a crazed high-school wrestler, trying to trap my body.

Mr. Hokama and Jac rushed forward to pull us apart. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I had taken a self-defense class before but the Tasmanian She-Devil pummeling me didn’t have any nuts to kick. Who would ever have expected some middle aged woman to attack? I’ve never been in a fight in my life, not counting fisticuffs with my sister when we were little. Or teenagers. I’m sure I stopped punching Josephine when I was in my 20s, although she did have a genius middle-knuckle maneuver guaranteed to cause a Charley Horse. I wish I would have strong-armed her into teaching me how she did it. I sure could have used it on that beach.

I had no offense and just rolled around in the sand trying to dodge Mrs. Hokama’s blows, as Jac stepped between us. Brave man. Mrs. Hokama reached around him and pushed my face down into the sand. I flung out my arms to push myself away. The gritty grains scraped my pink skin like sandpaper.

Jac helped me up and Mr. Hokama held Mrs. Hokama tightly from behind as she continued to claw and fight. She was spitting mad, spewing hate at me. We stared at each other, panting.

“Whore! Did you kill my son? Did you? Whore?”

“What? I’m so sorry about your son. My grandmother—”

“Your grandmother probably put you up to it!” She heaved.

“She didn’t put me up to anything. I only met your son once.”

“I know that.” Mrs. Hokama bared her teeth. “He would have nothing to do with someone like you. Haole! He had more class in his little finger than you have in your whole disgusting, white body.”

“Come on, Jaswinder. Let’s go.” Jac pulled me close.

I started to back up as a group of people gathered behind the Hokamas. They all looked at me like I was some sort of criminal. So much for getting to know local folks and looking for clues. If I observed this whole scene from a puffy cloud above or watched it on TV, I would point to the hatless blonde woman with the bent sunglasses and say, “She done it.”

I needed to make amends. “Please, accept my sympathy for your loss. I wanted to come and pay respects for my grandmother.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Mr. Hokama spoke.

“I haven’t done anything.” I said, watching Mr. Hokama turn back to someone in the crowd. He swiveled back to face me, holding a newspaper. He threw it at my feet.

“What do you call that?” he asked.

I tugged on the hem of my dress as I bent down to pick up the paper. It was that morning’s
Maui News
. I heard the noise of the crowd churl as if I had my ear pressed to a seashell.

I scanned the top story. The headline screamed: “Liquor Licker—Clues to Killing?” There was a huge, four-color photograph, featuring me, wearing the very same, recognizable sundress I was wearing right that instant. In the photo, my blonde hair spilled over my shoulder as I leaned toward Mike Hokama. My tongue, looking very long and curled, like the tail of a seahorse, was poised to lick his hand. I swallowed. Oh, this was not good. The angle of the shot made my boobs look like they were about to fall out of my dress. I looked like a woman up to no good. The caption didn’t help: “Could this be the final picture ever taken of local developer, 35-year-old Mike Hokama? Nebraskan tourist Dustin Smith was taking photos when he captured this shot Monday night at The Coconut Shack, mere hours before Mr. Hokama’s body was found. Sources say the woman may be involved.”

I scanned the rest of the article, which also highlighted the arrest of my grandmother, making the pair of us sound like a gang of hoodlums. I looked up at the Hokamas. Mrs. Hokama sobbed, not fighting any more, but repeating, “Call the police. Call the police.”

“I am so sorry. I just met your son briefly the other night, and he got a business call and then left. He seemed like a wonderful man and I am truly sorry for your loss.”

I was about to find out how sorry.

Jac took my hand and led me away. The picture in the paper shocked me. “My sister and I always used to joke about all the random tourists in other people’s pictures,” I told Jac. “We always thought it would be funny to be immortalized in some total stranger’s vacation scrapbook. Like they would notice us and wonder, ‘Who’s that girl?’ How freaky that I actually turned up in a tourist picture, licking a man who ends up dead?” I stopped and pulled my hand back. “Jac. What am I going to do now?”

“You’ll get through this. It will die down as soon as they solve this case. You have an alibi,” he reminded me. “Me.”

“But what about Halmoni? My grandmother could take the fall for this. I didn’t talk to one person at that memorial who could help me. They all looked at me like I was guilty. How am I ever going to help try to find who did it? If the police think they have the killer, they won’t spend much time looking for anybody else. I’m not sure what to do next.” I continued walking side by side with Jac. I knew what I wanted to do, though. I wanted to run home and hide. I wanted my mom. I wanted my grandmother. I wanted a do-over of my guardian angel.

I looked at Jac. If only we met under different circumstances. I pushed my hair behind my ears. “Jac, I bet you’re sorry you got mixed up with me and all of this. But, it looks like I’m going to be stuck here for a while, and I’m not really prepared for it.” I sighed.

“What about your parents?”

“It’s time for me to grow up and take care of things, as best I can. My parents are really good people and they will come as soon as they can, but right now, my dad is healing from his knee surgery and can’t really walk very well. My mom’s not doing that great either, plus, she never goes anywhere without him. If I know my family, and I’m pretty sure I do, they are holding their breath, waiting for me to mess things up. Believe it or not, I’m not known for my common sense or grace under pressure.”

“Aw, I find that hard to believe,” Jac said. The sparkle in his eye nearly made me trip. He looked down at me and took my arm, guiding me over a cracked sidewalk.

I stared up at him, probably with the same kind of look I saved for a root beer Hawaiian shave ice. A nervous giggled slipped through my lips. “I’m not flirting with you,” I said. Though my pants officially belonged hanging on a telephone wire, I wasn’t consciously flirting at the time. Walking, talking, and being horrified about getting clocked on a public beach by the mother of a man who was murdered, that I just so happened to appear with in a lewd and lascivious photograph, while my grandmother rotted in jail for the crime, pretty much encompasses my multi-tasking abilities. Lip-licking, eyelash-fluttering, and boob-squishing would have to wait.

“I’ll do anything to help my grandmother.”

“You’ll figure it out, Jaswinder. I think you’ve got a beautiful head on those sunburned shoulders.”

I laughed. “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” Jac said. His blue eyes mesmerized me with a swirling kaleidoscope of azure, aquamarine and cornflower crystals. I stared for at least seven seconds longer than was socially appropriate and looked down.

I hated to ask for help, for anything. “Do you know anyone who’s looking to hire?” I asked. “I’ve got to get a job. I tried the TV stations this morning, but they are all based on Oahu and just have small bureaus here, with no openings.” Not that I could give them a good reference anyway, I thought. I already told Jac how I got fired.

“I do,” he said. “If you’re serious. My friend, Vaughn, is an optometrist and he needs an assistant.”

“I don’t know anything about optometry. Besides, won’t my reputation precede me?”

“Not to worry. He’s cool, and I will vouch for you. Trust me, it’s an entry-level job. You are head and shoulders over-qualified for this position. You should hear the stories he tells me about the assistants he’s put up with. He’s desperate. I’ll call him for you. It’s just temporary. You’ll be helping him out, and he can help you out. Even if you work part time, you can make some money and still have time to help your grandmother.”

For the first time since I arrived in Maui, I felt like I had a handle on things. I had a plan. I would be earning money and getting to know the islanders. And maybe, I could help figure out more clues about this murder. I couldn’t wait to call my parents and let them know that everything was under control. I could do this.

“Thanks so much, Jac. I feel a lot better.” I smiled, and for the record, did do a little hair twirling. “You’re right. I really think things are going to be okay.”

I heard what I thought was the rush of roaring waves in the background. Little did I know it was really the gods laughing.

I showed up at Island Eye’s the next morning and met Jac’s friend, Dr. Vaughn Galindo. He was a nice looking guy, married, with two kids, who fled life on the mainland seven years ago and started his optometry practice in Maui.

“Business is good,” he told me. “Everyone needs their eyes checked sooner or later, and many of them need glasses or contacts, so we stay pretty busy. Your job is to answer the phone, make appointments, and just help out when patients come in. I have a tech who helps me with some of the computerized testing and patient care, but I do all the exams.”

I began to relax. After the stress of my days in TV, it would be a nice change of pace to have a no-brainer way of earning money. The morning sped by as I learned the flow of the office and booked appointments. I enjoyed chatting with the patients who arrived, and would even sneak in a “have you heard about the murder?” Everyone heard, no one had any new gossip to add.

Right before lunchtime, Vaughn left for an outside appointment. Not even five minutes after that, his tech, Ryan, told me he was heading out to lunch and would be back soon. Maybe he said sooner or later. Before he left, he introduced me to Mr. Abraham, a little old man, who, at the age of four-score and seven, decided to get contact lenses.