Iced in Paradise Page 13

  Travis stares at him and downs his shot. He turns his empty glass over and orders another one. D-man is not going to budge.

  Somehow seeing Travis through D-man’s eyes makes me feel ashamed. All those late nights at bars when Travis drank one too many. I made excuses for him. He was stressed out at work. It was a long weekend and time for him to cut loose. But really I was scared to lose him if I made a fuss. I was so blind, but now the scales are falling from my eyes.

  “Just because you got arrested and went to jail, you think that you’re down with the people.”

  “I’m going,” I say and walk out to the back by the dumpster and recycle shed for Waimea Junction. Something familiar is stuck in the corner, and I do a double take. Held in place by the top of the blue recycle bin is our missing shave ice mold, the possible murder weapon that killed Luke Hightower.

  I run through the back door of Santiago’s and demand that Andy come with me to the recycling shed.

  “Eh, I winnin’, Leilani.” I glance at his hand and it’s good, but I don’t care.

  “I think I’ve found da murder weapon in da recycle shed. Maybe it’s got fingerprints.”

  “Outside? Wen rain hard da oddah day. Da evidence probably gone.”

  “Inside da shed. And da shed’s all metal.”

  “Go check’um, go.” Baachan is only too willing to have Andy leave the game during his winning streak. Her dentures are still floating in their glass next to her stack of quarters.

  Andy must have felt some relief that I was talking to him again, because he grudgingly agrees to come with me. We walk through kids running around barefoot and pass the red-faced surfers hanging out at D-man’s.

  Trash bags probably filled with beer and liquor bottles from the luau are left in front of the metal shed. Broken-down cardboard boxes line the left side of the shed, and the shave ice mold is still there, sitting on top of the recycle tub like a crooked crown.

  “Look like one regular plastic container.”

  “It’s not. I know. I deal with dem every single damn day.”

  Andy sighs and gets on his cell phone to report it. “Yah, yah,” I hear him say. “I see you at da station.”

  He gets one of the collapsed boxes and folds it back into shape. With some plastic gloves from the cooking crew, he delicately places the mold into the box. “We see, Leilani. Dis a big long shot.”

  Carrying the box, Andy heads for his car, which is parked alongside the highway, and I follow. “You no can come.”

  I hold my ground. “I stay going already.”

  Andy shrugs his shoulders and we continue on to his yellow jeep.

  “Sergeant Toma’s not gonna like dis,” he says as I snap on the seat belt.

  “He doesn’t like anyting I do, so notting new.”

  Andy can’t argue with that and starts the jeep.

  I stay quiet for a few minutes while he drives. “You knew ice was da murder weapon.”

  Andy nods. “From cold water melting underneath Luke’s body. Cause of death was epidural hematoma. Rememba Eric Chong from high school got hit wid da baseball and wen die a few days later?”

  I remember. It was such a freak accident.

  “Whoever wen hit Luke, got into his brain. He probably died a few hours after da initial trauma.”

  “What time?”

  “I no can tell you everyting, Leilani.” We pass by signs saying “Kalaheo.”

  “I sent Sammie Nunes to you.” I feel like I should get credit for that.

  “Yah, tanks, what she wen share makes sense wid their text messages, fo’ sure.”

  “Somebody must have been following Luke.” I get chicken skin from thinking that someone could have been stalking him outside our house.

  “Yah, so keep your eyes open.”

  The jeep lurches over a pothole in the road, and I turn to check on the mold on the backseat. Still safe in the box.

  “You know your whole family’s fingerprints probably on dat mold.”

  “But there might be someone else’s. Someone who had no business touchin’ our shave ice molds.

  “What about Luke’s cell phone?” I add. “You must have found someting on dat.”

  “Notting that incriminates your dad.”

  “So you think my faddah’s innocent.”

  “I dunno. He may be, Leilani. Dat’s da best I can do.”

  I’ll take that for now.

  I go inside the police station with Andy, but have to stay in the lobby. Even though I’m furious at him, I text Travis to tell him where I am. I’m not surprised when I don’t get a reply. When he starts to drink like this, it’s hard for him to stop.

  Andy, his hand in his back pocket, emerges.

  “What he wen say?”

  “He already went home, but I entered da evidence.”

  We get back into the jeep. This was uneventful. Andy was right: I didn’t have to come with him.

  On the ride back, Andy gets more talkative. “I feel bad, Leilani. I didn’t want to do dat to you in Po‘ipū. But you gotta understand, Mr. Hightower has plenty power, sway.”

  “I nevah heard of him before all dis.”

  “Because lotta of those big shots hide behind other names.”

  Like Bamboo Royal Hills.

  Andy decides that he doesn’t want to return to the pepito game, and I want to call it a night, too. But I do need to find Travis. Andy drops me off and I surprise myself by thanking him. “Mahalo, ’night.”

  One of our family friends has set up a portable karaoke machine outside by D-man’s bar. Only the diehards, extremely drunk, still remain. No sign of Travis. Waimea Junction is totally trashed. It’s going to take all day tomorrow to gather all the dirty paper plates, crushed Solo cups, and empty beer bottles.

  My car is still there; it’s about the only one parked along the highway. As I drive back to the Airbnb, I rehearse what I’m going to say to Travis. You can’t treat me that way in public. You’re being disrespectful. When you drink too much, you become ugly.

  Sean’s van is in his driveway, and I can’t help but wonder if one of those sexy wahine from the luau is in his house. Not my business, I remind myself.

  I find Travis on the bed, still in his skinny jeans and T-shirt. Based on how much he’s snoring, he’s stone drunk.

  For my own quality of sleep, I go into another bedroom, one facing west. I still toss and turn, and even though I’m away from Travis’s snoring, I’m still with him in my thoughts. I usually make big decisions based on my gut feelings, and my gut is telling me things I don’t necessarily want to hear.

  I’m not sure if I’ve slept at all when my phone dings. Without knowing what time it is, I pick it up. It’s a text from Nori, of all people:

  Hear about PAPA Sorry

  What the hell? He must be high, I think. Then another ding. He’s sent me a photo. Probably something obscene. But I tap on the image to make it bigger.

  Is that who I think it is? I sit up and turn on the lamp. I let out an f-bomb. It is, indeed, Wynn Hightower, naked, and in a very compromising position with his son’s girlfriend, Celia Johnson, also naked.

  I have no idea where Nori is, but I immediately call him.

  “Nori, this is Leilani Santiago.”

  “Who?”

  “Wan-Wan-chan.”

  He begins to laugh. Jerk. He probably knew it was me but wanted to hear me say his nickname for me out loud.

  “Why did you text this photo of Luke’s father with Celia? And when did you take it?”

  “I send to Luke on Saturday.”

  “You mean the Saturday he was killed?”

  “Hai.”

  “So you knew that they were having an affair.”

  “I told Luke a week ago something strange going on. He didn’t believe. Got mad at me and everyone else. I was at Bamboo Royal when I hear something funny in Celia’s room. I do not remember taking this photo. Don’t even remember sending to Luke. Check my phone today, and there it is!”

/>   “Don’t erase it, Nori. Keep it on your phone, okay?”

  “Okay, okay. Luke was my best friend.” Nori’s voice takes on a somber tone, and I think he’s high again.

  “Where are you, by the way?”

  “Cali-for-nia.”

  “Do you think Mr. Hightower might have killed his son? Or maybe Celia?”

  “All I hear is your father arrested. Not fair.” He keeps jumping around, and it’s hard to follow what he’s saying.

  “Thank you, Nori. And keep in touch, okay?”

  “Bye bye, Wan-Wan-chan.”

  Turns out it’s nine o’clock and I have no idea if Sean is a morning person or not, but he’s going to get an early visitor. He is a morning person, because he answers the door on my first knock. He’s dressed in a fresh T-shirt that has the words “Giant Robot” in script across his chest. The curls on his head are wet.

  “Well, hello.”

  “Mornin’,” I say.

  “You disappeared last night. I heard you might have found something that could help in the investigation.”

  “I received a text that may help, too.”

  He freely invites me in, and I breathe a little sigh of relief that he seems to be by himself.

  He has made some green tea, and even though I’m not a tea person, I accept the Japanese-style cup he serves it in. Instead of the tea bag Baachan uses, he brews it with loose tea leaves. I’m careful to place the hot cup on a coaster on the koa wood table.

  “Nori texted this to Luke on Saturday.” I slide my phone over to him.

  Sean pushes his glasses up to get a good look with his naked eye. He turns the phone slightly to fully absorb what’s going on, and I finally pull it out of his hand.

  “That’s why Luke gave the surfboard to my dad. He was pissed off and wanted to be free of anything related to his own father.”

  “And then what? His father comes to Waimea Junction and they have a fight?”

  “Not sure. If only I knew what was on his cell phone—”

  “Well, the police know. Forward this photo to them.”

  “I don’t know. Wynn Hightower has a lot of influence, even within the police department.”

  “If they don’t look into it, we’ll hold them accountable.”

  I don’t know which warms my heart more—“hold them accountable” or “we.”

  I take a sip of the tea. It’s super bitter, but I think I can get used to it.

  After drinking his tea, Sean has something to share with me. “Hey, so I spoke to that dealer last night. The one who has the surfboard. He wouldn’t tell me who’s interested in it, but I think I’m going to pay him a visit. He may be convinced to share more info if I show him some green.”

  My face must have looked as clueless as I felt.

  “Leilani, money.”

  “Oh yah, of course.” Another sip of the tea. Now I think that I can’t get used to it.

  “I also gave a couple of names of lawyers to your father.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, last night. One’s actually on Kaua‘i.”

  I reach out for his hand and gently squeeze. “Mahalo. I appreciate it.” I realize that I may have been too affectionate and pull my hand back.

  “Your boyfriend seemed like he was having a good time,” Sean says.

  I cringe. “What did he do?”

  “Someone brought out a karaoke machine and he was really into it.”

  Sounds about right.

  “He also kind of spilled the beans about you being arrested.”

  Shit. “You mean while he had the mic? Did my parents hear?”

  “I’m pretty sure they did.”

  That’s the last thing I need to deal with.

  I get up. “I betta go and send this photo to Andy Mabalot.” I notice that the sales folder from the Hightower Enterprises press conference in Po‘ipū is on his kitchen counter. “Hey, can I borrow this?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  I quickly leaf through the contents, trying to find an address for Hightower’s real estate company.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Do you know where Hightower’s office is located?”

  “He has one at the Po‘ipū hotel, but I think he mostly does business at his house in Hanalei.”

  Of course there’s no address for his personal residence in the press releases.

  “I have his home address. You want it? I can text it to you.”

  It occurs to both of us that we haven’t exchanged phone numbers. I almost blush as I give him my digits. C’mon, Leilani, get a grip, I tell myself. You’re not in high school anymore.

  When I return to the Airbnb, Travis is in the living room, lying on the hibiscus-patterned couch with a plastic bag filled with ice cubes on his forehead.

  “Where were you?” he asks.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Are you okay? Here, I’ll make you some coffee,” I tell him.

  This time we don’t sit outside on the deck, but around a breakfast nook in the bright white kitchen.

  Instead of drinking the coffee, I wrap my fingers around the mug to feel its warmth. Travis, on the other hand, still holds the bag of ice on his forehead while taking slow, loud sips of his coffee. I’m not sure that I can do this. I proceed the only way I know how: headfirst. “When we were together in Seattle, I felt that we were totally together. Of the same mind.”

  “We were. We are.”

  “No, I don’t think so now. I think I might have lost myself in Seattle.”

  Travis lowers the bag of ice from his eyes. “You’re back home and you’re confused.”

  “I am confused, that’s true. But I may have been confused in Seattle, too. I’m trying to find where I belong.”

  “You don’t want to stay here. I mean, it’s beautiful to visit, Leilani, but for your future.…”

  “The thing is, Travis, I’m not sure about my future. I mean, back in Seattle, I’m just in admin. I can do admin anywhere.”

  “You can finish up at UW. Get your bachelor’s and go for something you really want.”

  “I have no idea what that is. I don’t know what’s going to happen to my family, our house, but I think I need to be on Kaua‘i, Waimea.”

  “Listen, I can tell you this much—your future’s not in shaved ice.”

  I summon all my strength not to correct him to say “shave.” “How do you know?”

  Travis raises his eyebrows. “So, what, are we breaking up?”

  “I think so.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD end like this. That I would come to Kaua‘i for us to break up,” Travis says as I follow the signs to the Lihue Airport. He was able to change his flight to a day earlier. He doesn’t want to stay one more night in paradise.

  “Are you sure? Wasn’t there a little part of you, maybe a tiny percent, that was thinking that we would?” I guide the Ford to the front of the terminal.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a little part. Maybe I thought that if I didn’t come, we would break up for sure.”

  My stomach feels upset. I’m not sure if it’s from the decision to end our relationship or Sean’s bitter green tea. Or maybe both.

  “Don’t get out of the car. Just drop me off.” He directs me to the curb for passenger loading and unloading.

  That’s fine with me. I don’t want to have a breakdown in public outside of the TSA checkpoint.

  He gets out and goes to retrieve his duffel bag from the backseat. I hurry to open the window to tell him goodbye, but he has already slammed the car doors, turned away, and started walking toward the terminal. Families hug, kiss, and wave their goodbyes to one another. Even a hotel van driver sends tourists home with a shaka. I wait at the curb until airport security tells me that I have to leave.

  The tears do come, harder than I expect. I can barely see the road through my tears and finally stop at Pa
kala Beach. I park on the side of the highway and go down a trail through some tall grasses and banyan trees to the water. Mostly locals go to the Infinities break here, and only when the surf is good, which it isn’t right now. I plop down in the sand and stare at the small breaking waves.

  Have I made a mistake? Have I thrown almost two years of my adult life away by breaking it off with Travis? For a second, I feel like calling him and telling him that we should rethink this whole thing.

  I remember what Court said. That I’m different in Seattle. I’m tired of being different in two places. Somehow these two, or maybe more, parts of me need to finally come together.

  I can think of only one person in my life who may possibly understand. I get my phone out and press my sister’s name, but I get her voicemail. A few seconds later, Emily calls me back.

  “Did you call me? You didn’t leave a message.”

  Just hearing her voice makes me start to cry again.

  “Leilani, what’s wrong? Is it Dad?”

  No, no, I tell her. And slowly, bits and pieces of my long-distance relationship with Travis roll out, the bumps, turns, and terrible potholes. And now the severed relationship, me taking a sharp knife and cutting it before it can grow further.

  “Are you sure that it’s really ended? Maybe you’ll get back together when you get some space.”

  I shake my head. Travis and I only seem to make sense when we are together in Seattle. Our rhythms of life and our habits move in established grooves there. When one of us is away, our relationship gets off the tracks and starts spinning out of control. Perhaps our love is only for a certain place and time. Maybe I really decided to move back home to make a clean break from him.

  “Court says I’m different when I’m on the Mainland.” Damn, and I think she’s right. “It’s like I erase a big part of myself there, some parts that I needed to hold on to.”

  “I know how you feel. Maybe I don’t feel like a different person in California, but maybe a different version. It’s helped that I hang out with other students from Hawai‘i sometimes. The best part is that we don’t have to explain things to each other.”

  We share a moment of silence and understanding. I’m already starting to feel better.