Iced in Paradise Read online

  “You can’t be serious.” I’m both stunned and honored that he really considered my concept.

  “We have a nice library right here in Waimea, so I figure I’ll specialize. Mostly used books. Maybe business, science, history, and mysteries.”

  “Mysteries are my favorite,” I tell him. “But don’t forget about handcrafts like stitching and quilting. Lotta folks like my mom are into that.”

  He makes a note of that and continues with the tour. In the back of the space are drying racks, and by the sink is a giant pot that swings on a metal frame. “That’s where we mix the soap,” he explains.

  I look around. “Isn’t making soap kinda dangerous? You need chemicals, eh?”

  “Lye—I haven’t brought any in yet. But once you mix the essential oils with the lye and cure the loaves of soap, the lye is all used up. Gone.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “Sounds interesting. I want to watch you make it.”

  “I’ll let you know. Maybe we can cross-promote. I can think of ingredients to make Leilani soap.”

  A soap named after me? I am overwhelmed and make some excuse that I have to go back to work. A couple of people are standing outside the shack, and I’m thankful that we actually have customers. Celia must have issued her ceasefire announcement on social media.

  Still, there are lulls through the early afternoon. I continue my cleaning crusade. After tackling the main room, I go into the back kitchen. Our icebox is pretty empty, but there are old leftovers in there from the luau. All that goes straight to the trash can. Underneath the table is the makeshift “Lost and Found” box that Pekelo made after I found Luke. Trash, trash, trash. I notice one thing that shouldn’t be there. Then it becomes completely clear to me. I know who killed Luke Hightower.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I SEND A SIMPLE TEXT:

  You left something at Santiago’s.

  There’s no response back. I don’t expect one. I text Sammie and tell her that she doesn’t have to come in today. She’s completely fine with that. All I can do is wait.

  The sun breaks through the clouds and it begins to get warm. A rush of middle-school kids flock to Santiago’s. “What color you want?” I ask them one by one. I recognize a few of Sophie’s classmates, wealthier ones who have an extra three, four dollars that they can pay for this kind of treat.

  The door opens and closes. I look away from the blinding sun, and it takes me a few moments for my eyesight to adjust to the inside darkness.

  “You said that I left something.” Barbara’s face is more pale than usual. I wonder if she’s like Emily, whose skin loses color when she drinks.

  “Hello, Auntie,” I say.

  I close our pop-up window and turn on the light. I bring the “Lost and Found” box to the counter. I’ve left only one item in there, a red scrunchie. This hair accessory is no ordinary one because it has some embroidery on it. A black Labrador in honor of Duke. My mother made it for Auntie Barbara in February for her birthday. Barbara hasn’t been at Santiago’s except for the recent luau. Yet this scrunchie was on the floor where Luke High tower’s body lay.

  Normally, I wouldn’t be afraid to be alone with Auntie Barbara, who, in fact, is wearing her hair back in a scrunchie. She was like a member of the family. The way she looks right now sends shivers down my spine. Maybe I should have told someone before alerting Barbara on my own.

  “Eh, I lookin’ for my scrunchie.” Barbara slurs her words a little. “Must have left it at the luau. Tanks, so special to me.” As she reaches for the scrunchie, I move the box away from her.

  “You didn’t leave it at the luau. You left it when you killed Luke Hightower. Right here, in this room.”

  Barbara’s eyes get big, and she puts her arms out as if she is trying to maintain her balance.

  “You thought Luke was my father. They were both wearing those baka glow-in-the-dark Killer Wave shirts. So you got one of the ices and clubbed him with it. In the exact spot that it would hurt him the most.” With her knowledge of living things, she probably knows where humans are most physically vulnerable.

  “No, nevah happen like dat.”

  “You owe me, Auntie Barbara. You’re like family. You know what hell we’ve been goin’ through. I deserve an answer. Why did you do this? And why did you keep it quiet?”

  My words stoke a fire under Barbara. “Rick is my everyting. And your faddah was telling him to leave me. Dat both of us would be better separate.” She walks toward me. There’s a glint from something in her right hand. Her keys, which I know is attached to a folding knife.

  I take a few steps back. I feel my throat closing up and heat rising up to the top of my head. Breathe, Leilani, breathe, I tell myself.

  I put my hand in my back pocket and feel the surface of my phone. I touch some random numbers. I’m calling someone, but I don’t know who. If they pick up, I hope that they hear what is happening.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Auntie Barbara, and I know that you don’t want to hurt me. Tell the police what happened. You drunk, so you don’t know whatchu doin’.”

  She starts to replay that night as if she needs to confess. “I waited for Tommy. Seemed like hours. Then somebody wen come in from da back. Then I knew I couldn’t wait. I came from behind and he dropped, so easy like dat.”

  Still clutching at her keys, she tells me about all the pain and loneliness that she is going through. “You still young. You have no idea.”

  If I scream and yell, someone is bound to hear me, right?

  The door opens. My father is in the doorway. And behind him is Sean, his glasses reflecting the ceiling light. “I’ve called the police,” he announces.

  “Barbara, you want me. Not Leilani. I’m here. You come afta me,” my dad says.

  Barbara turns, still wobbling.

  I feel sick. I hate seeing my auntie like this. She’s much better than this.

  “You wen ruin my life,” she says.

  Another person pushes my father aside. “Barbara, please,” Rick extends his arms. “It’s all ova now.”

  Sergeant Toma and Andy have arrived, and this time Auntie Barbara’s hands are secured with wrist ties. I think that I’ve now experienced a lifetime of arrests. It’s okay on Law & Order, but I don’t need to see any more for a long while or maybe forever.

  “Well, I guess you’ll get your bail money back,” Toma says to me and my father.

  Thank God, I think, but Dad sneers. “Not always about money,” he comments and walks out the back door.

  We stand near the recycle shed, where there’s still some trash from the luau. I don’t think Dad can bear to see Barbara be carted out to the patrol car.

  “Did you suspect that it was Auntie Barbara?” I ask him.

  “Thought it could have been her.” He explains that he thought she was eavesdropping on his private conversation with Rick. And later he told both of them that he was going to return to Waimea Junction to take care of some business. “But I wasn’t gonna tell da police anyting.”

  “You might have gone to jail for her.”

  My dad shakes his head. “If I went to jail, it was for Luke. I was supposed to take care of him, but I nevah.”

  Later on, Dad tells Rick that he can still stay with us, but Rick declines. “Dat’s too uncomfortable.” And none of us try to convince him otherwise. Mama Liu comes by to take Rick and Duke back to the North Shore. “I got chickens to take care of,” he says, and I know Dad fears that he may start drinking again. This is when I think of what Travis kept reminding me: We can’t take responsibility for someone else’s bad decisions. I don’t dare to say that out loud, but it’s a wonder that it comes to haunt me tonight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “YOU ALREADY ’WAKE?” Baachan comes into the kitchen without her dentures. She takes a big sniff. “Smells like rice.”

  She’s followed by Sophie and Dani, their bare feet making slapping noises against the linoleum.

  “You okay, Leilani?” Dani asks.
/>   “Ta-da!” I show them what I’ve been working on for the past hour. Stacks of musubi: some triangular ones with umeboshi, red pickled plum, inside, others with tuna mayo, and smaller ones covered in furikake. And, of course, squares of Spam musubi.

  “I made you and Ro a special lunch.” I throw half a dozen of them in a paper bag.

  “And you, too, Dani.” She gets three umeboshi ones because that’s her favorite.

  “One obake take ova your body?” Baachan is mystified.

  “It was a joint effort,” Mom says, returning back to the kitchen. “Girls, get your backpacks and hurry on to school.”

  “So what? You want Kona coffee?” Baachan, her dentures now in her mouth, says as she measures out some ground coffee beans into the drip machine “Or you gonna drink your hi-tone kine from Seattle?” I actually have already taken both those beans to Santiago’s for an experiment, but don’t want to reveal that now.

  “You know what? I think I may have half-and-half. Mix it up.”

  Baachan raises her sparse eyebrows. “Eh, now you talkin’.”

  Our spirits have been lifted since Dad’s murder charges were dropped. His ankle bracelet was removed and our bail money returned. The Līhu‘e attorney was thanked but told her services were not needed. I even called Travis to tell him the good news. At first his voice was so cold that I immediately regretted calling him, but at the end of our conversation he says, “Thanks for letting me know. I’ve been wondering what happened.”

  Of course, with good news also come bad. We all felt bad for Auntie Barbara, especially Mom. She was the one who had helped personalize the key piece of evidence, the embroidered scrunchie. “Tommy shouldn’t have gone so hard after her,” she said to Mama Liu, who’d stopped by to pick up the cleaver we had borrowed from her months ago.

  “Dat’s bulai,” Mama Liu said. “She wen try for kill Tommy, remember? Now one innocent boy dead.”

  Other evidence piled up against Auntie Barbara. A witness reported a driver under the influence crashing into a railing near Kapa‘a that Saturday night. The paint matched the scrape on Auntie Barbara’s car. I still can’t believe that she was able to drive all the way to Santiago’s in that state. It just shows how scared she was to lose Uncle Rick. Now he’s definitely by her side through all of this. And, of course, since she’s in jail, she’s sober. In a weird and terribly ironic turn of events, the Chens ended up with what they wanted. Aside for Luke Hightower being the sacrificial lamb.

  Over my coffee and her kale juice, I tell Mom that I’ve been contemplating my future.

  “Don’t rush, Leilani. Think about what you really want.” Her skin doesn’t look so papery thin this morning. “Santiago’s going to be all right without you. Baachan and I can keep it going. Sammie says she can work more hours and D-man will help, too.”

  A part of me feels the sting of not being so needed. But that’s what my mom always had told me. When it comes to work, no one is irreplaceable. In terms of being someone’s mother, that’s a whole other story.

  “No, I want to be here,” I tell her. “Really. Maybe not a few months ago. But I have some ideas for Santiago’s.”

  “Ambitious,” Mom says to me, breaking out in a smile. “Your father would be happy to hear about that.”

  “By the way, I have a special announcement to make. Since the girls have only a half day of school, can you bring them ova to Santiago’s afterward? Dad and Baachan, too?”

  At first Mom seems worried, like what’s going to happen next? But we Santiagos have come this far. If we are together, we can get through anything.

  I’ve barely opened the shack for five minutes when Court barges in, her hands full of magazines. She puts them down on our counter.

  “What are these?” I ask.

  “Bridal catalogs.”

  Aisus! She can sense that I’m less than thrilled. She comes up to me and places a lei over my neck. “And here’s a leftover lei to make the reading go down better.”

  “Gee, mahalo.” I have to admit that it smells magnificent.

  She leans back into the counter. I know that she wants to talk story. “They still not talkin’ to each other. Kelly says he can’t forgive him.”

  Maybe the two brothers need some time to cool down, I suggest.

  “Pekelo’s moved into the garden shed.”

  “Fo’ real?”

  “That shed ready for come down. Also a lot of poison stored in there, right? He took it all out and put it in the garage. I think that he might try for build one sink or even a benjo out there.”

  “What, fo’ real?” Sounds like Ronaldo West–style living.

  “Yah, fo’ real.” She spots my experiment on one side of the counter. “What dis, anyway?”

  My three Mason jars of cold-brew coffee. “My experiment. Come try latah.”

  “I wish. Gotta make a delivery to Kapa‘a.” She lingers. I know something else is on her mind.

  “What?”

  “A part of me feels relieved Pekelo’s in the shed because I’m supposed to move in the house once we married. Dat’s so bad, eh?” Court covers her face with her perfectly manicured fingers.

  “No,” I say, “you human.”

  Around one o’clock, Mom comes around with Baachan, Dani, and Sophie. Sophie’s talking a mile a minute about some new gossip about Jimin—the performer, not the rooster. Dani, the visual one, notices the new addition to the chalkboard, but I put my index finger to my lips to signal for her to keep my secret.

  “When’s Dad coming?” I ask.

  “He’s on his way,” Mom assures me.

  “What dis all about?” Baachan asks.

  “What, you have someting bettah to go to?”

  Baachan sneers at me and I sneer right back at her. We indeed have a special relationship.

  I look out our pop-out window for Dad. Instead I spot Sean walking through the parking lot.

  “Come in, come in,” I say to him. “Perfect timing. I have an announcement to make.”

  When he enters, the whole family, even Baachan, crowd around him. I think that Baachan may have a crush on him. How can I break it to her that he’s about fifty years her junior?

  Sean is eventually able to break free from the adoring female Santiagos and make his way to me. “I’m thinking of having monthly tenant meetings,” he says. “You know, so we can brainstorm and think of ways of getting more people to come to Waimea.”

  “Meetings?” I’m more allergic to meetings than lace.

  “Parties, then?”

  I nod. Sean Cohen may become a Hawai‘i boy yet.

  Dad finally wanders into the shack. He looks lost, and I have a feeling why. Luke’s paddle-out in San Clemente is happening about now.

  I stand behind the Mason jars on the counter and whistle to get everyone’s attention. Now is the time for my announcement. “Well, most of you all know this, but I’m a coffee freak.”

  I explain to everyone that I’ve made cold-brew coffee with three ground beans from different locations: Seattle, Kona, and finally Kaua‘i. The beans and cold water have sat overnight in separate Mason jars. I strain each one of them in cheesecloth and now the testing begins.

  I shave about a cup of ice in multiple bowls, topping them with sweetened condensed milk, bits of almonds, and the cold-brew coffee. We take turns tasting each one.

  “Hey, dis is barely notting,” Sophie exclaims at the small amount of coffee ice that I’ve placed in her and Dani’s bowls.

  “Coffee is supposed to stunt your growth. You don’t want to be a real-life menehune, do you?”

  Sophie sticks her tongue out at me and I stick mine back at her. We have a special relationship, too.

  “This one is the best,” Sean points to the third bowl. Everyone else nods in agreement. The local beans. Pretty convenient, and it’s always good to go local.

  “Well, this is my signature flavor.” I point to the chalkboard, where I’ve added “Wake Up, Waimea.” “What do all you think?” />
  “Onolicious,” Sean says, practically drinking it from the bowl.

  Baachan is the one who pays me the biggest compliment. “I wanna have more.”

  After celebrating my new signature flavor, the family scatters. When Sammie reports to work, I take out the trash and notice my father walking toward the pier with his surfboard. There are no waves out there, especially at this time. I think that I know what he’s up to.

  I go into Killer Wave and Kelly is with a family of five, outfitting them with snorkeling gear.

  I wave and gesture that I’m going into the back, where one of my wet suits is stored. I change in there and for the hell of it, I keep the wilting lei on me. I borrow a red boogie board and go out the back door.

  D-man has arrived, his pickup truck filled with tonight’s supplies for the bar.

  Once he sees me with the boogie board, he smiles and flashes me a shaka sign.

  I throw him one back. No words necessary.

  By the time I’m on the beach, Dad’s already in the water. He isn’t surfing, just sitting on his surfboard, looking toward the horizon.

  There are no waves, really, barely any ripples. I kick over next to him.

  My father seems surprised to see me. We both bob on our respective boards for a while, watching the clouds pass by.

  “I’m sorry, Dad, about Luke.” I remove the leftover lei from my neck and hand it over to my father. We don’t have to verbally say what this is. It’s our own private paddle-out in Waimea for Luke Hightower.

  “Yah, he was a good one.” He releases the lei—the pearly white tuberose, the brilliant pink Stargazer, the yellow hibiscus—onto the surface of the water. The flowers are like Kaua‘i’s natural jewels, not destined to last forever but to mark this exact moment with an overwhelming and indelible beauty. My father takes a deep breath of the salt air and I follow. Our breaths are not synchronized. We have our own unique rhythms and beats; one doesn’t dominate the other.

  We watch as the lei floats toward the sun, and when we can no longer see its colors, we head back home.

  THE END