Iced in Paradise Read online

“Mornin’, Lei-ani.” Baachan doesn’t have her dentures on, so her words sound muffled.

  Dad doesn’t bother to say hello and instead presses the remote for our tiny TV on the kitchen table. Thankfully, instead of any news updates on Luke’s murder, there are mostly traffic reports and talk about some kind of festival this weekend. The news people like to keep it light on Monday morning.

  I scroll through my texts. There are quite a few from Dad, actually, asking me if I know where Luke is. Travis has texted me a few times, asking me if I have my phone now. I text him back:

  I have my fone. Ill call u later.

  He immediately answers me back. K

  His terseness probably means he’s in a meeting.

  “You wan toast?” Baachan’s on her feet, and I see that she’s wearing her usual flowered muumuu.

  “Nah, I’m good. I betta go to the shave shack. Not good to be closed so long.”

  “Wait. We goin’ wid you. We decided,” Baachan says.

  I tell them that I’ve left the Ford at the shack, but the walk doesn’t dissuade my grandmother from insisting that she come with me.

  I change into a fresh T-shirt and go to the front door to get my Crocs. Baachan is in the same muumuu but now wearing her teeth, which she bares like a pit bull. She’s carrying a straw bag. I try to reach for it, but she wrestles it away and puts it under her arm. Dad, thankfully, has showered and shaved the sides of his beard. Instead of a Killer Wave aloha shirt, he’s wearing one of the Santiago Shave Ice T-shirts that Dani had designed earlier this year.

  We walk on the grass by the side of the road, my father leading the way. We pass red volcanic rocks arranged as property borders and enjoy the shade of the almond trees with their paddle-like leaves and white flowers. There are koa trees with their spindly branches stretching out to the sky and, in the distance, green hills that lead up to Waimea Canyon.

  Across the highway is our Ford, parked outside Lee’s Leis and Flowers. And next to it is Santiago’s. Before I go in the shack, Baachan stops me. “We pay respects,” she speaks into the screen door, as if she’s making an announcement to some spirit being.

  Dad is already inside, checking the floors and the corners of the shack. “Pretty clean.” He sounds surprised.

  “Pekelo helped us out and made sure everyting was back to normal,” I tell him.

  From her straw bag Baachan brings out some incense—I didn’t even know she had some—and an empty tea mug, this one chipped. She places the mug on the floor next to our counter and fills it with assorted seashells that we leave around the house. She sticks the incense in the mug, the shells holding them in place. “Lighter.” She extends her arm to me and I dig out a plastic one from one of our junk drawers.

  “Is this some kine of Buddhist thing?” I whisper to Dad.

  He shrugs his shoulders but keeps his distance, as if to honor Luke’s memory.

  I remember the lei that Court had brought over and retrieve it from the fridge. I wind it around the cup, and Baachan approves. She puts her hands together and bows toward the altar. We are all remembering Luke in our own way.

  Dad meanwhile continues to check the condition of his business. He goes into the kitchen area where our ice freezer is stored. He examines the rows of ice blocks in round molds through the glass cover. “We missin’ one.”

  “Sammie must have used it up and forgot to replace. I’ll talk to her about it.”

  Dad looks right and left and underneath the table. There’s a crate where Pekelo had placed the odds and ends he had found on the floor. The pizza purse is empty of any coins. The origami crane looks like something Court could have folded for an anniversary. A red scrunchie features an embroidered dog, my mother’s handiwork. Pekelo’s even made a sign, “Lost and Found.” “Don’t see shave ice mold anywhere,” Dad says.

  Dammit, I say to myself and recheck my phone. I hadn’t heard anything from Sammie in a couple of days. No texts or voicemails from her, despite everything that happened yesterday.

  I text her:

  Howzit? Haven’t heard from u. U comin to work today, right? We open.

  I wait. Usually Sammie texts me back immediately, even when she’s in a class. An exam would be the only exception.

  I go one step further and call her. My call goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message, asking her to call me as soon as possible.

  “Someting wrong?” Baachan notices my aggravation.

  “I haven’t heard from Sammie since Sunday. And she’s not texting me back.”

  “Call her mom, then.”

  I try not to bother the mother. I know her and Sammie’s relationship can run hot and cold. But we need her to come in for the swing shift tonight. Plus, I can’t stand when people ghost me.

  Her family still has a home landline, so I call it.

  A woman answers it. “Hallo.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Nunes? Yah, this is Leilani Santiago.”

  “Oh, I heard what happen. You folks okay?”

  “Yah, it was real terrible. But we back in business.”

  “Sammie was so upset. Nice you give her time off.”

  “Huh?”

  “Turns out she picked up extra hours at college Student Life Center. All worked out.”

  “Oh, yah, worked out.”

  “You want me to tell her someting?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll find her myself.”

  So, Miss Sammie, whatchu tellin’ your maddah? I say to myself. I inform my father and Baachan that I need to go and talk to Sammie. and they assure me they can handle things at the shack.

  Luckily Kaua‘i Community College, or KCC, isn’t that far. The building part of the school is small, but the land itself is spacious. I drive past green taro fields and rows of other crops that the agricultural students have planted. Sammie somehow got into the two-year nursing program, which is supposed to be competitive, but based on the little studying she does, she’s either a genius or barely treading water.

  The school is minuscule compared with UW, yet seeing young people wearing book bags, either walking or riding skateboards or scooters, makes me feel a bit nostalgic for that time. Life was so easy when I was at UW. But it was also so brutally lonely. I felt so out of place, so stupid. My classmates had read the classics in high school, passed their AP tests in Calculus. I, on the other hand, was seeing a tutor once a week to learn how to write a college essay. My tutor was even giving up on me. “What do you want to do in the future, Leilani? Do you want to spend the rest of your life on your little island?”

  There was no right answer to his question. Kaua‘i is ‘ohana, home, family, the healing power of the sea. But it’s also a very little island, population close to 70,000 people, if you didn’t count the tourists. (And we never count the tourists.) Undergrads alone at my university were about half that number.

  KCC, in comparison, has barely 1,000 students, the size of most Mainland city high schools. Both Kelly and Court went there and, in the past, I’ve gone to a few special events on campus. I know the Student Life Center, where Sammie is supposedly working. It’s housed in a two-story orange-tannish building. I park the car and head up to the second floor.

  There are a couple of Ping-Pong tables, a counter for coffee and drinks, and a bunch of couches where a few students lounge with their laptops. Sitting on one of the couches is Sammie. She’s talking to one of her male classmates, so she doesn’t notice me at first. But her companion looks up at me and she finally does, too.

  “Whatchu doing here?” She doesn’t seem that thrilled that I am there.

  “So dis work?”

  The guy who was sitting next to Sammie decides that this is a good time for him to leave. Smart bruddah.

  “I check out Ping-Pong paddles and stuff.”

  “Why haven’t you been returning my texts and calls?” Sammie’s cell phone, in fact, is right at her side, like an additional appendage.

  “Ah—”

  “And I heard from your maddah that I gave you time o
ff.”

  “You talked to my mom?” Sammie is starting to look desperate.

  “Why you avoiding me?”

  Sammie looks toward one of the windows, and I think I see a red-footed booby bird flying by.

  “Sammie.”

  She makes eye contact with me, and I see that she’s crying.

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “That guy, the surfer, Luke. We made plans to meet up Saturday night. At the shack.”

  I’m both impressed and shocked that Sammie could make such an impression on a guy in such a short time. I mean, it only took minutes for her to serve him that rainbow shave ice.

  “He told me that he had never spent much time in Waimea. Always Po‘ipū and North Shore. He gave me his number. Told me I should call him.” Noting that look on my face, Sammie protests, “It’s not what you tink, okay? I was just tryin’ for be nice.”

  I sit down on the couch next to Sammie, the same spot where her friend had been. I want her to keep talking to me.

  And she does. “Things were kind of slow around eight o’clock, so I gave him a call. He was super upset. His girlfriend had been cheating on him and she was textin’ him. He didn’t know what to do.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. He said it was super complicated and he couldn’t go over it on the phone. So I told him that I would meet him at the shave shack after I closed up. I would have to go home first to show my face, but I would leave the back door open for him. He just shouldn’t turn on any lights, because I know how you get about that.”

  “And did you meet him?”

  “I couldn’t. My mom was watching me like a hawk. So I texted him to tell him that I couldn’t make it.”

  “Sammie, the police have his phone. They are gonna be able to get his text and calls, and they will see that you were supposed to meet with him.”

  “But I nevah.”

  “You can tell them that. But you need to go to them first. Tell them everything that happened.”

  “My mom’s gonna be so upset.”

  “Sammie, dis murder, okay? Dis not just sneakin’ out of the house. Serious, you understand?”

  Sammie nodded her head.

  “You know where the police station is, right? Not far from the airport. See Andy Mabalot. I think he has a younger sister your age.”

  “Oh, Teresa Mabalot? I know her.” The personal connection seems to immediately reassure Sammie, who is a social butterfly.

  “And come in at three to work your shift. We need you. More than eva.”

  Sammie nods. “I’ll be there.”

  “Oh, by the way, don’t forget to fill up the ice, okay?”

  “I always do, Leilani.”

  “One of the molds is missing from the freezer.”

  “I didn’t use it. Just the leftover ice was enough.”

  Strange, I think. Then what happened to that ice?

  As I walk back to the car, my phone dings. A text from Emily:

  How’s it been with Dad?

  Shit, I think. She has no idea about all that’s happened. I sit on the grass near my parked car and call her back. She answers and I go into the long, sordid story.

  “Should I try to come home?”

  “No, Emily, you stay. Notting you can do here.” I’m blunt, but it’s true. One less Santiago on Kaua‘i means one less person to worry about.

  There’s a couple in hiking gear eating shave ice at the picnic table when I arrive back at Santiago’s. I expect my father to be behind the counter, but it’s Mom with Baachan at her place behind the cash register.

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask.

  “He can’t handle it. People lookin’ at him like he’s a killer.”

  It’s probably all in his mind, I think, but don’t say anything aloud. I notice twin musubi wrapped in nori on the counter. “For me?” How did my mother know that my stomach was rumbling?

  “Tuna mayo.”

  “You read my mind!” I take hold of one and take a huge bite through the crunchy dried seaweed, soft rice, and then the creamy and salty canned tuna mixture. I’m in heaven!

  Through bites of my lunch, I tell both of them to go home. “Get some rest. I can handle.”

  They both hem and haw, but I tell them Sammie is coming in around three. I don’t get into her whole situation with Luke right now. She needs to take care of that on her own with the police. Baachan looks like she’s ready for a nap, so finally she leaves her perch to be driven back home. This situation with Luke has taken a toll on all of us.

  After I finish my second musubi, I walk over to the spot where Luke’s body had lain. Someone’s moved this morning’s altar to a table by the door, and thankfully the tuberose smell overtakes the leftover scent of the incense. Incense always reminds me of funerals and death. The floor is now clear, the wood even lighter where the blood stains were, thanks to Pekelo’s generous application of bleach. I remember the cool water underneath Luke’s body. That’s when I finally realize: The murder weapon must have been the missing ice block.

  Could ice kill? A solid shave ice block weighs two, three pounds, about the same as one of my mom’s weights. With the right amount of force and angle, it could be used to knock someone out. At least I think I saw something like that on an old Law & Order episode.

  The door opens and I go around the counter, getting ready to serve. It’s the next-door neighbor, Sean, wearing the same hoodie.

  “Eh, hello,” I say.

  He nods his greeting.

  “I want to apologize for last night—well, I guess this morning. My Pops wasn’t too nice. And me, neither.”

  Sean barely acknowledges what I’ve said. “I did some online research on the swastika surfboard,” he announces.

  “Oh, yah?” The soap maker certainly has a gung-ho side to him. I had almost forgotten about the swastika.

  “Did you know that the swastika symbol can mean something good? Before the Nazis took it over. Like to Buddhists and Hindus.”

  I pause. I recall being in my Baachan’s temple during the Obon festival in elementary school and seeing something that looked like a swastika but reversed. My grandmother couldn’t explain why but told me to ask my teacher, Mrs. Shirota, but I forgot. “I think there was something like a swastika in my grandmother’s temple.”

  “It’s a super-ancient symbol and stood for good luck—that is, before the Nazis co-opted it.”

  “So Luke’s surfboard was made before World War II?”

  Sean nods.

  “There was a California building company that started making surfboards in 1932. The swastika was their logo. They changed it up later.”

  Somehow I feel relieved. I didn’t like thinking ill of the dead.

  “That surfboard is very valuable,” he says.

  “What do you mean, valuable?”

  “Collectors may pay five figures for one that is in good condition.”

  Five figures—like $10,000? Pupule.

  “So maybe my theory is right—that someone stole the surfboard, and Luke fought them off and got killed in the process,” I say.

  “Except why was his body in your place?”

  “Maybe they saw him and killed him and took his surfboard?”

  “That’s a real possibility.”

  “Eh, high five.” I put my palm up. At first Sean looks confused, and then he slaps my palm with his. His palm feels baby soft. I can’t believe he’s made much soap with all those chemicals.

  “Tanks for looking up all that information. I could have, too, but there’s a lot of drama in my life right now.”

  “It’s personal,” Sean says, and I don’t quite register what he means. “I have my eye out for Nazis.”

  Okay, whatever, I think. All I care about is figuring out what happened to Luke so the police case can be closed for good.

  When Sammie arrives—only five minutes late, which means early for her—I go home.

  Mom is outside on the porch sitting on a papasan chair. In her lap is
a bowl of green mangoes, which she is starting to peel. We used to have three mango trees on our property, but now we have only one. The fruit that it produces is not particularly impressive, but good enough for some things.

  “Pickled mango?” I ask, taking a seat on a beer crate next to her.

  Mom nods. “I was actually wanting to talk to you,” she reveals. “To talk to you about your father.”

  She stops peeling and looks directly at me. “He didn’t do it, Leilani. He was at a meeting on the North Shore.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  “AA.”

  Alcoholics Anonymous. “I didn’t know that he was going to that.”

  “Yeah, after your graduation. I told him I would take the girls and leave him. Go back to California to my parents’ house.”

  “You wouldn’t have done that.” I know that my mother doesn’t get along with her parents, and it’s partially because of me. Because I was conceived and born, the first of the Santiago brood. Because of me, Mom dropped out of college and abandoned her dreams to play volleyball in the Olympics.

  “No, I would have. For your sisters’ sakes. I was only sorry that I didn’t threaten him sooner. That you had to go through so much.”

  My eyes sting and I blink away my tears. At least someone noticed.

  “The pressure of everything. His Killer Wave brand. The competition. Being back home with me. It was getting to him, so he figured that he had to go to a meeting.”

  “You figure that there would be a closer meeting.”

  “Rick’s his sponsor here.”

  “Rick’s in AA, too?” Damn, is every man around us an alcoholic?

  “So your father has an alibi,” she says, as if she is testifying in a trial. He was at an AA meeting.”

  “But until when?”

  “Leilani!” My mom is upset that I’m not accepting this piece of news as proof of my father’s innocence.

  “I’m just sayin’.” I don’t want to excite my mother any more, and I get up to go inside. In the living room, Dad is playing video games with Sophie. They are both so absorbed in their game that they don’t even notice that I’m there. I pour myself some iced tea from the fridge and retreat to my bedroom. I need to let Travis know what is going on.

  Once I get him on the phone, I apologize. I hate when people ghost me, and this is what I do to him. When I tell him that I literally stumbled over Luke’s body, Travis freaks out. He now gets how the past couple of days have been so disruptive, why I haven’t been able to talk to him.