Dying for a Daiquiri (24 page)

Tom shook Lee’s hand and said, “Detective Tom Hunter with the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department.”

A half-smile formed on Lee’s thin lips. “So you’ve brought in reinforcements from California? Your brother doesn’t have faith in the Hawaii Police?”

“Of course we do. Tom is my….” I hesitated. What was Tom’s official title in my life other than investigating detective?

“I’m Laurel’s boyfriend joining her for a few days,” Tom said. “Completely off-duty. I’m looking forward to exploring your island. I’ve never been to Hawaii before.”

I grinned. I could get used to that word––boyfriend.

Lee tapped his phone against his palm. “There are many wonderful attractions to explore on our island although some are more dangerous than others. Such as the ATV ride in the Waipi’o Valley. One hears rumors that occasionally a tourist gets rammed and almost killed.”

My mouth opened wide enough to stick a foot-long Subway sandwich inside. “How did you hear about that?”

“We’ve been watching everyone involved in this investigation.” Lee’s unblinking eyes locked on Tom’s face. “I’d advise you to keep an eye on your girlfriend. Someone is not happy with her. And I don’t need another murder on my island.”

“Don’t worry,” Tom replied coldly. “It’s under control.”

Lee strolled off, undoubtedly to terrorize someone else. It actually made me feel better knowing the detective was on site assessing the crowd. If he was checking out Keiki’s friends and family then he was less likely to be arresting my friends and family.

I had some investigating of my own to do, but couldn’t figure how to go about it with Tom by my side. Despite his earlier remarks that he planned to assist me, I doubted he would interfere with an official investigation. Especially now that he’d met Detective Lee.

I led Tom over to a bougainvillea-covered arbor where Keiki’s parents greeted their guests. Maybe he would come up with some pertinent question I’d overlooked so far. Kiana stood placidly next to her husband and stepdaughter, as elegant and graceful as ever. Her dark hair flowed down her black linen sheath. I couldn’t tell whether it was her natural demeanor, or if her doctor had prescribed some “tranquility” drugs.

Victor didn’t seem to be holding up as well as his wife. His eyes looked bloodshot and his face blotchy. Even though Keiki was his stepdaughter, the young woman had lived under his roof for over eight years. As a parent, I would imagine if something this devastating happened to one of your children, it would leave an emotional scar that would last forever.

I introduced Tom to Keiki’s parents.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Tom reached out to take Kiana’s hand. “I’m a widower and I know how painful it is to lose someone, although one should never lose a child.”

Kiana held his large palm in her tiny one. “
Mahalo
for your kind wishes, but my daughter is at peace at last.”

Walea, who stood next to her stepmother, rolled her eyes. I worried she would go off on another “slut of a stepsister” tangent so I jumped in before she could mouth off. “I heard Keiki tried out for the
Bride and the Bachelor
reality show.”

Walea nodded. “She was excited when she found out she was a contestant. I was happy for her. I hoped her dreams might finally come true.”

“Such a sad situation,” I said. “The bachelor could have been her Mr. Right.”

Walea frowned and shook her wavy mane. “Keiki could have cared less about a proposal from Jacques Cointreau, although he had looks, money and fame. All she really wanted was the notoriety and glamour of participating on the show.”

“It could have been a big break for her if she wanted an acting career. We stopped at Koffee Land after we saw you on Friday,” I said. “The reality show was holding a reception for the participants. Did you know Amanda is a contestant?”

“I didn’t realize she’d made it, too.” Walea said. “Amanda’s the one who told Keiki about the show to begin with. They’ve known each other since they were both cheerleaders in high school.”

A ha. Did I know a former cheerleader when I met one or not!

“She seems like a sweet kid,” I said. “I hope the show works out for her.”

Walea nodded. “I do too. The two of them were friends, but it seemed like they were always competing with one another. Whether it was for boys or beauty pageants, my little sister always had to be number one.”

A woman whose long gray braid trailed down the back of her flowered
muumuu
walked up to Kiana and whispered in her ear.

“I’m sorry, I guess we’re out of coffee,” Kiana said. “Will you excuse me? I need to make some more for our guests.”

“Can I help?” I offered. Making coffee seemed the least a member of my family could do to assist Keiki’s parents.

“Mahalo, you are so kind. There are two coffeemakers on the counter, and you’ll find the coffee beans in the pantry.”

Tom and I walked away, and I pointed to my mother and Stan across the lawn. “Why don’t you join them while I get the coffee started for Kiana. Just watch out for anyone with a suspicious look on his or her face.”

“I’m a homicide cop. Everyone looks suspicious to me,” Tom said. When I frowned, he kissed my forehead. “Don’t worry, you’re currently exempt from that description.”

For a change.

I opened a screen door that led directly into the kitchen. The beautiful Koa wood cabinets gleamed, but I didn’t see anything that resembled a pantry door. Maybe the pantry was located outside of the kitchen.

I wandered down a hallway, past a laundry room, and opened a door. Nope, that was the garage. I went in the opposite direction, but the only door I found led to a linen closet.

I walked back down the hallway and opened the door leading into the garage again. Maybe in Hawaii they built pantries in the garage for better storage in the humid climate. The Yakamuras’ garage contained a car and a truck, a tool bench and the assortment of stuff that tends to accumulate in garages. Although their accumulation of “stuff” appeared far less messy than mine did. One more item to add to my spring-cleaning to-do list when I returned home.

Off to my right was a white-paneled door. As I drew closer, the smell of fresh coffee assaulted my senses. Finally. Then I realized a small brass padlock hung on the doorknob. I shook the padlock and it came loose. It seemed somewhat odd for Victor and Kiana to padlock their pantry. They must have unlocked it so they’d have access to the storage area during the party. With an extra push of my hip, I shoved the door wide open.

Talk about the mother lode. This door didn’t open to a pantry. It opened to a huge room running the length of the two-car garage. Inside the room sat piles of one-hundred pound burlap bags of coffee beans. All labeled with a familiar logo in lime green and purple.

KL for Koffee Land.

The potency of a ten-by-twenty square foot room stuffed full of coffee beans was enough to bring on a caffeine migraine. I started counting the bags then gave up. There were at least a hundred of the huge sacks containing what looked like pulped green coffee beans stored in the room. A table near the entrance was bare except for a stack of unmarked brown bags.

I shut the door to the private room and re-entered the garage. My head reeled with questions and a coffee hangover. I knew Victor managed the coffee operation, but would that also entail distribution? Even with my limited knowledge of the business, it didn’t make sense for so many bags of Koffee Land beans to be stored off-site. I kept trying to think of a reason for the secret stash, but nothing came to mind.

I entered the house, retracing my steps down the long hallway to the kitchen. Walea stood by the counter, waiting for some fresh coffee to brew.

“We wondered what happened to you.” Her eyes narrowed and I wondered if I smelled as if I’d been bathing in coffee beans.

“I needed to use the powder room. Sorry I didn’t get the coffee started. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

She gave me a funny look and shook her head. I went back outside, my brain creating and abandoning a variety of scenarios regarding the coffee stash.

I noticed my family and friends congregated under a huge banyan tree. Regan was just the expert I needed. I barreled across the green lawn and reached the group in seconds.

“We were about to send a search party for you.” Tom’s tone sounded light, but his eyes indicated he’d been anxious about my absence.

“Sorry. Something distracted me.” I turned to Regan. “Just out of curiosity, how is your coffee distribution handled?”

Her expression suggested I’d drunk one too many cups of coffee, or alcohol, if I had a burning desire to learn the answer to that question right now. “You mean how do we sell our coffee?”

“Yes, sort of. Do you also sell your beans to other coffee farms?”

She shook her head. “No, some of the smaller farms sell what we refer to as parchment––that would be the dried green beans––to some of the larger more established processors. Then they handle the milling, roasting and distribution of the product. We process only our own beans at Koffee Land and sell directly from there, either to customers who come into the store or to people who order over the internet. Knowing Ritz and Pilar, eventually they’ll expand and start selling to grocery stores and other outlets.”

“Why do you want to know?” Mother asked.

“Oh, just idle curiosity.”

Stan and Tom snorted simultaneously at my response.

Honestly!

I took Regan aside. “So you don’t store Koffee Land beans any place outside the farm?”

She shook her head. “No. What’s going on?”

I looked in the direction of Keiki’s parents. I couldn’t accuse them of theft during this reception honoring their deceased daughter. That would be too cruel. But did those bags in the storeroom have something to do with Keiki’s murder?

“I’ve been talking to people and heard bits of conversation here and there,” I replied. “When we took that tour with you the other day, you discussed the value of green coffee beans. The bagged coffee you sell ranges from thirty-five to forty-five dollars. Aren’t the beans themselves worth significantly less?”

“It depends whether it’s a good crop year or not. A bag of green beans is usually worth from $9 to $10 per pound. With the borer beetle destroying crops like they have at Koffee Land and other farms, the price has gone up in the last few years.”

My analytical brain kicked into gear. A hundred-pound bag of green coffee beans could be worth close to a thousand dollars. And there had to be at least one hundred bags in that storeroom if not more. We weren’t talking pennies.

We were talking a hundred thousand dollars. And that was just for the beans stored in the room at this moment. How many coffee beans had made their way in and out of Victor’s garage in the past few months? Or years?

I glanced at Victor who stood alone by the patio. It appeared that he, in turn, was watching me. I worried that Walea had mentioned my wandering around their house without supervision.

My lips felt dry so I reached into my purse for my pink lip gloss, which was tucked into the side pocket, right next to the evidence baggie containing the earring we, or rather Ruckus, had discovered. This would be the perfect opportunity to hand it over to Detective Lee. But, first, I needed to show it to Regan.

I pulled Regan away from the group once again and led her to a shaded corner where we could be alone.

Her lips curved into a half-smile. “More urgent coffee questions?” 

“Maybe, later. I found a piece of jewelry and wondered if it belongs to you.” I grabbed the clear bag and held it in front of her face. She looked curious but not concerned.

“Can you take it out of the baggie?” she asked.

Probably, but I couldn’t chance adding any more of Regan’s DNA to the evidence file for this case. I also didn’t want to tell her where I’d found it.

“I need to keep it secure for now,” I replied, evading the question. “It’s an abalone earring. Is it yours? Or have you seen it on anyone else?”

She shook the bag, trying to get a clear view of the earring, but even I could see it was difficult in the shade. Regan moved away from the tree and into the sunlight. She brought the bag closer to her face.

“I have a couple pairs of abalone earrings. I love the bluish green hues, but I don’t remember losing one. I can check when I get home tonight.”

“Do you know anyone else who owns a pair?”

“I don’t know of anyone who
doesn’t
own a pair. They sell them everywhere. They’re pretty, fairly inexpensive, and durable.” She scrutinized contents of the baggie. “It looks like something is stuck on the wire. I wonder what it could be.”

“Yes, it is most curious, isn’t it?” said an annoying familiar voice.

“Detective Lee, I was looking for you.” I threw a friendly smile in his direction, but it bounced off his grim façade.

“Of course you were. Would you care to share anything with me, or do you normally keep abalone earrings in sealed bags?”

No wonder the man made detective. He must be part dolphin because his hearing was sonar quality.

Regan watched as I plunked the bag into his open palm. “Where did you find the earring?” she asked.

“At the outlook next to Daiquiri Dave’s.”

Regan gasped. “Where Keiki went over the wall?”

I nodded. “Tom and I stopped to take a look this morning. While we were there, a woman’s dog dug it up. I planned to hand it over to you, Detective. This was my first opportunity.”

Sort of.

He sniffed. “If you see any more dogs digging up jewelry, I would appreciate a phone call. Immediately.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his card. Then he led me away from Regan.

“Ms. McKay, despite your lack of knowledge regarding the chain of evidence, you seem like an intelligent woman. And an empathetic person as well. Please do not let your feelings for your family lead you to destroy any evidence you come across. It could result in harm to others. And possibly to you.”