Iced in Paradise Read online

  “He said it, not me.”

  “But you’re after the same things? You probably want to make Waimea Junction a Waimea Royal.”

  “No, of course not. I mean, it could use some upkeep and a fresh coat of paint.”

  “I thought so! And what was it about making soap? Just a stupid lie.” I shake my head. I can’t believe this. Dad’s in jail, our house is mortgaged, and now we may lose both Santiago’s and Killer Wave. I’m starting to get one of my panic attacks. I need fresh air to breathe.

  I rush out of the reception, accidentally knocking someone’s California roll off their paper plate. I leave my empty glass on the concierge table. The shiny folder slips out of my hand, and one of the hotel’s staff quickly removes it from the mosaic stone floor as if it never existed. I strip off my name tag and pluck it off my fingers.

  Finally I’m outside, but it’s complete chaos.

  “Don’t take our land!” “Don’t take our land!”

  The two protesting bruddahs have multiplied into at least thirty folks, all carrying signs and chanting around the sidewalk and spilling out into the street and also near the parking attendants. The police are here, and officers are standing around the perimeter of the hotel.

  Joining the protesters is the giant woman we saw in the fallow sugarcane fields. I don’t think she recognizes me because she hands me a sign as I get close. Holding that placard makes me feel powerful, like I have a tool that will help me get heard.

  “Leilani! Leilani—” I hear a man’s voice calling out to me.

  “Leave me alone, Sean!” I scream back, hoping the protesters will prevent him from approaching me.

  “Don’t take our land!” “Don’t take our land!”

  But he keeps walking forward, that stupid name tag still affixed to his hoodie.

  I’m sick of this. All of this. Why do outsiders feel that they can come here and disrupt our lives?

  With both hands I hold the sign above my head. “Don’t take our land! Don’t take our land!” I yell at him at the top of my lungs, causing him to take some steps back, into the brick loading zone. I don’t know if his sneaker got caught on the brick, but before I know it, he has stumbled and fallen on his okole.

  Wynn Hightower has burst through the crowd of onlookers and patrolling police officers. “I want this woman to be arrested.” He points his finger at me, an arrow aimed straight at my heart. “She’s disturbing the peace.”

  A couple of police officers, including Andy Mabalot, have now come next to us, ready to intervene.

  “Really, Andy?” I say to him.

  “You’re on his property.”

  “This is not Bamboo Royal.”

  “I own this hotel, too,” Wynn says. Of course.

  We can’t let this keep happening. “Don’t take our land,” I chant, sticking the sign in his face, so close that it touches his forehead.

  “Get her out of here,” he directs Andy. Andy’s face hardens as he pulls my hands behind my back, causing the poster to fly onto the ground, and secures plastic ties to my wrists. The plastic cuts into my skin and I tell myself not to cry. Andy and another police officer lead me to one of the squad cars.

  “You let her go!” The giant woman steps forward onto Wynn Hightower’s property. As I am pushed into the backseat, I watch as five officers take her down. A smaller woman tries to defend her, and she also is taken into custody. “Don’t take our land! Don’t take our land!” The crowd is getting louder. Bits of trash—smashed fast food cups and napkins—are now being thrown onto the hotel’s driveway and pristine grass landscape.

  “I’ll get you out,” Sean, his glasses crooked on his face, calls out to me through the open window of the moving police car.

  Now I feel exactly like Dad. Just leave me alone.

  Chapter Nine

  I WISH I COULD SAY that I don’t know what it’s like to be riding in the backseat of a police car, but I’d be lying. During my senior year of high school, there was an “incident.” It involved another student who happened to be stalking Emily, who was a junior at the time. Kirk would be waiting for her every day when she was dismissed from her last class. He would follow about five yards behind, stop where she stopped, and even wait for her to emerge from a friend’s house. Later I would discover that Kirk was neglected and sometimes abused at home, but I still wouldn’t have done anything different. Mom had spoken to our high school counselor, but since what Kirk was doing was outside of school grounds, there was little they could do. As he was a minor, only sixteen, the police didn’t want to get involved. Mom went to his home to talk to his mother, but she defended her son, saying we were lying, crazy Filipinos.

  So I had to take things into my own hands, right? Those hands took hold of the shoulders of the military jacket that Kirk was wearing and slammed his back into a chain-link fence at our school. I verbally beat him up, threatening every act of bodily harm that I could imagine if he continued his stalking ways. Court was begging me to stop, but I didn’t listen to her until Mr. Yamagishi pulled me off of Kirk. Right behind him was Kirk’s mother, who had been watching the whole time.

  Mr. Yamagishi tried to calm the mother down, but she insisted on calling the police. It must have been a slow day at the Kaua‘i police station because lo and behold, who should show up but Dennis Toma, who was a lieutenant at the time. They didn’t lead me out with my hands in plastic ties that day, but I did get a chauffeured ride in the back of a police car. I had just turned eighteen, and I guess was technically an adult. I was taken in for questioning, perhaps to appease Kirk’s mother.

  I was never charged with any crime, but I was marked as a troublemaker at the Kaua‘i police department. Marked as a girl who was out of control, a local vigilante. Toma gave me a good talking-to, told me that I needed to break my family’s rebellious cycle. I had no idea at the time what he was talking about.

  I was close to getting expelled, but as it turned out after the “incident,” all these girls from my high school came forward. Kirk stalked them, too, and on top of that, left morbid notes in their lockers. Each one of them was scared to come forward until they saw me confronting him on school grounds. Mr. Yamagishi worked it out with the principal, and I had to serve detention for three months, but there was nothing on my school record that would have affected my acceptance to UW. And Kirk was transferred out of our school; I never knew what happened to him afterward.

  Today is a different story, as I’m officially booked. They have taken my fingerprints and my mug shot. At least I’m wearing my flowered blouse and a bit of makeup, so I guess I dressed up for the occasion. “I want my phone call,” I tell Andy in my best Law & Order voice, and I’m handed a receiver. Who can I call who won’t freak out?

  D-man picks up on the second ring.

  “It’s me, Leilani. I’ve gotten in some trouble.”

  “Lihue Police Station?” The location must have shown up on his phone. He tells me he’s on his way.

  When that’s finished, Andy takes me to a line of small individual cells, all empty. He opens the door on the far holding cell and I walk in. The gate of bars clangs closed. Andy is now dead to me.

  I sit down on the skinniest mattress ever, which rests on top of a metal bedpan. I smell bleach that’s been applied to get rid of the scent of piss. Guess what, it doesn’t work. Right next to the bed is a miserable stainless steel toilet. I tell myself that I will not use that benjo, no matter what. I’ll soil my shorts before I lower them in a jail cell.

  More voices, both female and male, footsteps, and the clanging of more jail doors. As there are walls that divide each cell, I can’t see who has been locked up next to me.

  Breathe, Leilani, breathe. My anxiety is going up again. I close my eyes. To avoid the piss smell, I try to not breathe out of my nose and inhale through my mouth instead. The relaxation technique doesn’t work as well that way.

  I try instead to think about how we are going to clear my dad. By now the police must have found something
on Luke’s phone. Toma must have interrogated Celia. Maybe whoever was having an affair with Celia decided to finish Luke off. I can’t imagine someone being so captivated by her to kill, but some folks, especially obsessed men, can be lolo and unpredictable.

  I lie back on the bed and wince. The surface is even harder than the ground. I won’t be staying here overnight, right? I imagine my father being in here a few days ago and now at the real jail, the correctional center. This whole thing is so wrong. When Kelly gets religious on me, which is not that often, he talks about the truth setting us free. Where is our truth? I don’t see it, God.

  I think I hear a trumpet blowing. A few beats and again. “What the heck?” I say out loud.

  I hear some chuckling in the next cell. “That’s Patsy. My girlfriend. Her snores are legendary, can be heard as far as the Big Island, I’m told. At least she’s getting some rest,” a woman, most likely middle-aged, says. The voice is not a local one. My guess is that she isn’t from Hawai‘i.

  “Are you from the protest at the hotel in Po’ipū?” I ask.

  “Were you the first one to get arrested? We saw the police taking you away and Patsy went nuts.”

  “Is she kind of tall?” I try to be as diplomatic as possible.

  “Seven feet of heaven.”

  “Eh, I think my sister and I may have seen her before. In Moloa‘a Valley.”

  “That’s where my land is. From my great-grandmother. It’s not even an acre. Found out about it recently. Through a quiet title lawsuit.”

  “What’s a quiet title?”

  “Hightower sued a bunch of us to clear the title of some kuleana land. Land that the natives like my great-grandmother owned. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know about it. But I wanted to check it out before I agreed to sell it. Turns out that I didn’t want to let it go.” Here I thought that the giant woman was the one with ties to the land. “We came from LA. Patsy is a character actress and is going for some roles with Hawaii Five-0. She’s kind of gone Method with the outfit, hair and all. But that’s just how she approaches her roles.”

  “She chased me and my sister off of your land. I think she was holding a spear.”

  “Oh, sorry. She can go overboard.”

  Quiet. Sophie had said something about some men saying “quiet” to Pekelo. Could it be that the Kahuakai boys had a claim to kuleana land, too? “Do you know how many families are involved?”

  “Dozens. Our ancestors were all part of the Hawaiian system, charged with taking care of the land and taking care of each other. When the land-tenure system changed into divvying up private property, the maka‘āinana, the common laborers, were given a portion of the land they tended. We’re just claiming what was given to them.”

  All this was covered in my Hawaiian Studies classes in high school. I paid enough attention to get decent grades at the time, but once I left Kaua‘i, all history involving the maka’āinana left my consciousness.

  Footsteps again. Andy appears with a key in hand. “Leilani, you got bailed out.” He speaks softly, but that nice-guy routine isn’t going to work on me. He opens the door, and I silently thank D-man. He has come through for me again.

  The woman who’d been talking to me pokes her arms out in between the bars of her cell door. Her arms are covered in fine red hair and she has age spots on the back of her hands. “Lucky girl,” she says to me as I pass.

  “Good luck,” I respond.

  In the next cell over, Patsy the actress is still fast asleep. Only three-quarters of her body fit on the uncomfortable bed; her lower legs dangle toward the ground. I see her patchwork clothing in a new light now. It’s a costume, art.

  At the booking station, my jewelry, phone, wallet, and keys are returned to me. I don’t have anything to say to Andy and the other officers. The door to the booking area is open and I’m free.

  I walk outside and find myself in the parking lot. The whole gang is here: D-man, Kelly, Pekelo, and Court. “Thanks for bailing me out,” I say to D-man. “I hope it wasn’t too expensive.”

  Kelly gestures to someone standing next to a white van. “He beat us to it.”

  Sean stands awkwardly by a concrete parking bumper. At least he has taken off his name tag.

  I shake my head. If only they knew that this guy is probably going to dismantle Waimea Junction as we know it? “I’ll pay you back. Every single penny,” I say without looking at his face.

  “I told them, Leilani,” Sean says. “I told them that I’m the new owner of Waimea Junction. But I don’t have any plans to kick anyone out or raise the rents. I do want to make some improvements.”

  “Our building could use some help. Right now it’s kinda hammajang,” Pekelo says, and I glare at him like he’s a traitor. That reminds me that we need to have another conversation about what he was really doing at Bamboo Royal.

  D-man volunteers to drive me home, but I need to pick up my car from the self-parking lot at the hotel in Po‘ipū.

  “I go get’um,” Kelly says, and I gratefully give him my keys and the parking ticket. As I get into D-man’s old pickup truck, I’m so thankful for my crew.

  “I don’t think he’s all bad,” D-man says. I know he’s talking about Sean.

  “Says you.” I cross my arms and slump down in the passenger seat. “He could have come clean from beginning. Why lie and say he going make soap?”

  “I think he’s really making soap.”

  “Fo’ real? Whassamatta wid him?”

  “Rich high-tech guy from Silicon Valley. That’s what they do after they make their millions.”

  “Silicon Valley? He said he came from Sunnyvale.”

  “That’s in the middle of Silicon Valley, Leilani.” D-man thinks I’m clueless, which I certainly can be at times. “I don’t think he’s like Luke Hightower’s father.”

  “We’ll see,” I tell him. I have to see with my own eyes.

  When we are in front of my house, I ask D-man if he wants to come in.

  He hesitates.

  Sophie bounds out the door and down from the porch. “Dad’s home!” she announces.

  The pickup’s engine is still running. D-man tells me that he has to tend the bar. Good excuse.

  “Why did D-man drop you off?” Sophie asks when I approach the house.

  “Eh, had some car trouble. No big deal. Kelly’s going bring da Ford latah.” No sense in getting the fam all worried about me, especially since Dad has returned.

  The minute I enter the house, I can tell that the mood has lifted. Dani has made a banner out of construction paper, markers, and tape: “Welcome home Dad.” I hear a commotion in the kitchen, which usually means Baachan is cooking. Mom is sitting on the couch with her feet up on Dad’s lap.

  Dad seems a little different. Like his sharp edges have been smoothed a bit. He’s freshly shaved the sides of his beard and even trimmed his goatee. When Mom sees me, she gets up as if she wants me to have some private time with Dad.

  “You shouldn’t have put a second mortgage on the house,” he says, not sternly but more deflated, resigned.

  “It’s in Baachan’s name. She wanted to do it. I couldn’t stop her.” I sit cross-legged on the tan jute rug. Mom brings me a glass of mango shake made from coconut water. I guess we are celebrating tonight.

  “So who got you out?”

  “Mr. Brown and Rick. But I have to wear this.” He points to his bare left ankle, where a black square monitoring device has been attached. “Can only be home or at Santiago’s.”

  “We’re getting you a new lawyer.”

  “Mr. Brown good enuff.”

  “No, Dad, he may be a nice man, but he’s not good enough. We have to find you a hotshot lawyer in Honolulu.”

  Both of us are quiet for a moment and take long sips of our mango shakes. The sweet richness hits the spot. I can’t believe everything that I’ve gone through today.

  I have some nagging questions still, beginning with the swastika surfboard. “Is Baachan right? That y
ou sold it to pay for Mom’s medicine?”

  Dad ignores my specific question. “Luke gave it to me. He told me he didn’t want it anymore.”

  “But why?”

  “I dunno. All of a sudden when we get off da plane. He was plenty quiet when we landed. Like he got a bad message on his phone.” Dad rubs the back of his bare feet. “So he told me to take it off his hands. I know a dealer who knows how to sell anything. One call from the airport, and he says he’ll come and collect it early next morning.”

  Apparently he did come Sunday morning around eight o’clock, unaware that Luke’s cold body was inside Santiago’s.

  Dad still doesn’t admit that Mom’s health was behind the quick sale. He’s got so much pride. I can only help him if he lets me know what’s going on.

  “Did something happen at the meeting Saturday night?”

  “What meeting?”

  “I know, Dad. Mom told me. You’ve been going to AA.”

  Dad grunts.

  “Uncle Rick helping you out, right?”

  Dad finally verbally responds. “I da one who’s helpin’ him out.” Again my dad’s pride.

  “Someone’s here with your car,” Sophie calls out from the porch.

  Someone, that’s Kelly, you silly girl. I rise from the jute rug, only to see someone altogether different coming up our walkway.

  “I thought Kelly was getting my car,” I say to Sean as he hands me the keys.

  “Come in for grindz.” Mom holds open the screen door and Sean looks confused for a second. “C’mon, don’t give us haoles a bad name here. Grindz, food, dinner.”

  It’s too late to stop Mom. Sean must be hungry because he adjusts his glasses and walks in. Before he gets to the living room, I pull him aside. “Say nothing about what happened today,” I hiss in his ear. He looks surprised but understands that I’m dead serious.

  Usually we eat at the kitchen table, but there are too many of us. We remove Dani’s art projects from the dining room table and add another table leaf to enlarge the surface. I take a rag from the sink and scrub the table of glitter and paint, or at least as much as I can manage. We bring out a roll of paper towels and a glass mug filled with pairs of hashi. Everyone grabs the chopsticks, and Dani holds out a special pink Hello Kitty pair to Sean. He smiles and accepts it. One of his lower canine teeth sticks out, and I have to admit it’s pretty cute.