Livin' Lahaina Loca (12 page)

“
Mahalo
for thinking of me,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“Are
you kidding? You saved the day. Chico’s a good sailor but he’s kind of lacking
in people skills. And Tomika really enjoyed having you around. She told me so.”

“I
can’t believe she gave me that silk robe,” I said. “It’s so gorgeous.”

“Believe
me, she loved every minute. Maybe you’ll consider going out with me another
time?”

I
nodded, unsure of what I’d just agreed to do.

As
we said our
alohas
, I reminded Ono we’d be doing Keith and Nicole’s
photo shoot at noon on Saturday, right before the ceremony.

“I’ll
have everything spic and span.”

“I
guess I’ll see you then,” I said.

“Unless
I see you before. Call me if you want.” He leaned in and put an arm around my
shoulder and gave me a squeeze. I’ll admit to being a tad disappointed it
wasn’t followed by at least a peck on the cheek.

His
comment about calling reminded me I hadn’t picked up my cell phone messages for
three days. I generally didn’t get many messages on the weekends but it was unheard
of for me to go incommunicado for more than a day when I had a big wedding
coming up.

I
punched in my voicemail code.

You have six messages
, said the stern female voice.
The number of messages and her curt tone made me feel even worse about falling
off the radar for seventy-two hours.

The
first two messages were vendors—the DJ and the bartender—confirming the date,
time and place of the reception. I was known for getting cranky with my
suppliers if they didn’t call and check in with me a few days before a wedding.
But it was justified. I’d literally been left standing at the altar without
things like flowers and folding chairs, and once even the official performing
the ceremony was a no-show, so I demanded a call-in from everyone the week
before a wedding.

The
third message wasn’t a vendor. It was the guy who’d called on Halloween
night—the night I’d been searching for Crystal. Same whispery voice, same
peculiar accent. “So, I guess you don’t take me for serious,” he said. With his
accent it sounded like ‘cirrus’—a type of wispy cloud—but I was pretty sure he
wasn’t calling to discuss the weather.

He
went on. “That’s too bad, you know? ‘Cuz I wanna talk to you. Don’ keep me
waiting too long, Ms. Moon, or you’ll be sorry. Okay?” I heard muffled noise in
the background, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Bar clatter? A sporting
event?  I saved the message and went on to the next one.

Hatch’s
familiar deep voice came on after the voicemail lady announced I’d received
call number four on Sunday at eight-twenty-three a.m. “Hey, Babe. I’m off
today. You want to get together? Call me. I’ll wait to hear from you.” Oh,
darn. I’d forgotten to call him and tell him I’d be out of town. Not good.

The
fifth message was from Glen Wong. “Ms. Moon, we’re wrapping up our
investigation on your report of November One. If you’d like a hard copy of the
final paperwork, give me a call. We’ve documented the damage to your vehicle
for your insurance company.”

The
sixth and final message was from Keith Lewis. “Where are you? I came by your
shop and then I called your home number. Your roommate said you’d gone out of
town. We’ve got less than a week to go here. Call me—now.”  

I
sprinted up Front Street, my anxiety level tipping into the red zone. The
message from the creepy guy, me standing up Hatch on his day off, and Keith’s
continuing grumpiness made my homecoming feel less than welcome. The only good
news was my car was right where I’d left it in the alley behind my shop. It
appeared unscathed, so I didn’t stop to check it over. Maybe subconsciously I
wasn’t prepared to deal with any more creepiness, especially now that it was
getting late and the alley was in deep shadow. I walked right by, not even
stopping to put my overnight bag in the trunk, and headed for the stairs.

In
the soft glow of the setting sun I noticed something shiny and yellow hanging
on the doorknob to my shop even before I started up the steps. Halfway up, I
could tell it was a little Chinese silk pouch with a drawstring closure. Many
of the local jewelers use them as gift bags when you buy a necklace or a pair
of earrings.

Out
of reflex I looked up and down the street hoping to catch sight of someone. A
pang of guilt caught in my chest. Had Hatch brought me a peace offering for his
recent lack of attention? Or maybe Keith and Nicole felt bad about their rude
dismissal of my concerns about Crystal. Whoever it was, it lifted my mood to
come upon an unexpected treasure. I shifted my overnight bag to the other
shoulder and bounded up the last few stairs.

I
carefully unwound the drawstring from around the door knob. The pouch was
feather-light. I fingered the contents through the smooth silk. There was too
much in there for it to be earrings or a simple gold chain. I imagined a shell
necklace or maybe a coral bracelet. I don’t wear much jewelry, but when I do, I
prefer organic stuff—like shells or clay beads. Only Hatch would know that.

I
unlocked the door and went inside. The room smelled like I’d left an egg salad
sandwich on the window ledge for three days, but a quick scan of the room
didn’t turn up any misplaced foodstuffs. I dumped my overnight bag and the gift
pouch on the desk and rummaged around for a can of tropical breeze-scented air
freshener.

Outside,
the light was failing so I flicked on lights as I sprayed. The yellow silk
pouch gleamed in the glow of my desk lamp. I couldn’t take it any longer. I
pulled the puckered silk open along the drawstring.

Inside
I saw a jumble of shells, but they didn’t appear to be strung. I tipped the
pouch and poured the contents into my palm. It wasn’t shells. When I recognized
what I was holding, I gasped and dumped it all out on the desk.

They
were human fingernails. Entire nails, not just cuttings. They weren’t bloody or
torn so I figured they must be fake—probably acrylic. Each had hot pink polish
and a tiny palm tree decal. I’d seen them before when Nicole had proudly shown
off the matching mani-pedi’s she and her bridesmaids had gotten the day of the
bachelorette party.

My
pulse thumped in my neck as I dialed the phone.

“Maui
Police Department. Do you have an emergency?”

“No,
I need to speak to Detective Wong. This is Pali Moon, returning his call.”

“Please
hold while I transfer your call.” There was a click and then an
earnest-sounding male voice came on to scold callers about the dangers of
drinking and driving. After half a minute, he was cut off mid-sentence.

“Detective
Wong here.”

“Hello,
Detective. It’s Pali Moon. I’ve got something you need to see.”

“Another
donation for ‘Locks of Love’, Ms. Moon?” I heard the chuckle in his voice, but
I let it go because once he realized why I’d called he’d be apologizing. He’d
be hard-pressed to sell his Halloween prank theory now.

“No,
what I’ve got here is even more disturbing.”

“Before
we waste my time and yours, why don’t you just tell me what you’re talking
about.”

“Fingernails.”

“Fingernails?
I’m afraid I’m not following you, Ms. Moon.”

“I’ve
got the missing girl’s—I mean, young woman’s—fingernails. They were left at my
shop door while I was over in O’ahu.”

I
waited while he took a moment to connect the dots.

“Ms.
Moon, I’m afraid I’m still not following you.”

“What’s
to follow? Remember I told you about that bridesmaid who went missing on
Halloween? Well, now we’ve got her hair
and
her fingernails. And besides
that, I also have a recorded voicemail from a creepy guy who’s threatening me.”

“Where
are you right now, Ms. Moon?”

“At
my shop in Lahaina. I’m upstairs, above Hargrove’s, the restaurant on the
corner of—”

“I
know where Hargrove’s is, Ms. Moon. Stay right there. I’ll be down within the
hour.”

So
I had an hour to kill. I plucked up the fingernails and laid them out in order,
like two phantom hands with the flesh missing. All fingers and thumbs were
present and accounted for. I scooped them up and poured them back into the
pouch. Then I listened to the four messages on the landline phone in my shop.
Each was a check-in call from a vendor—the Plantation Inn confirming the
reception date, Keahou confirming the cake delivery, the gal making the
bridesmaids’ leis, and finally, my roommate Steve announcing he was prepared
for the photo shoot on Saturday.  

I
called Steve on our home phone. When he didn’t answer, I left a message telling
him I’d made it back to Maui but I had a few things to deal with at the shop
and I wouldn’t be home for awhile. I thought about calling Hatch but decided
against it. I didn’t want to get into a long-winded discussion of my trip to
O’ahu and then have Wong show up in the middle of it.

Finally,
I called Keith but he didn’t pick up. I left a message asking if he and Nicole
could meet me at my shop at eleven o’clock the next morning. We’d go over the
wedding schedule and discuss any last-minute concerns. I tried to sound as
nonchalant as one can while staring at a pouch containing the ripped-off
fingernails of a missing bridesmaid.

Wong
made it in forty minutes. He managed to find the back stairs in the pitch black
alley and was rapping on my shop door as I came out of the restroom.

I
turned the latch and let him in. “Sorry I didn’t leave the door open. I was so
creeped out by the fingernails I locked up before going to the bathroom. Have
you been waiting long?”

“Just
got here.” He looked around the cramped space. “This isn’t as nice as your
place up in Pa’ia.”

I
said nothing. To my knowledge he’d never been in my old shop on Baldwin Avenue.
But Steve had told me Wong was the consummate busybody. Rumor has it on his
time off Wong checks out people, places and things all over the island like a
king checking the nether reaches of his kingdom. Steve said behind his back
people refer to the detective as ‘Peeping Wong’.”

“Well,
this is the best I can do for shop space right now,” I said. “And it looks like
I may be here even longer than I’d hoped. The Mo’olelo Society has decided to
turn my old shop into a visitor center.”

He
nodded as if it was old
news.                                                                               

He
pointed to the desk phone. “May I listen to the voicemail you reported?”

I
walked over and picked up the receiver before realizing the sinister voicemail
wasn’t on my shop phone, it was on my cell.

“It’s
in there—on my cell phone,” I said, pointing to my overnight bag.

Wong
waggled his finger in a ‘bring it here’ gesture.

I
rummaged through my bag for the phone and when I looked up, Wong’s eyes were
darting around the room, taking in everything.

“Nothing
much escapes you, does it?” I said.

He
shot me a half-smile, as if he wasn’t sure if I’d meant it as a compliment or
criticism.

I
punched in my voicemail number and entered my code. When the robot lady
announced the time of the creep’s incoming message, I passed the phone over to
Wong.

He
put the phone to his ear and I waited while the message played.

“What
was the caller referring to—about being ‘serious’?” said the detective. “Maybe
it’s a supplier you’ve forgotten to pay? Or maybe a potential wedding client? I
don’t hear the threat you claim to be hearing, Ms. Moon.”

“The
guy said I’d be
sorry
—that sure sounds like a threat to me.”

“Well,
maybe you’d be sorry to miss out on some new business. Or maybe it’s a florist
who wants to tell you about a great deal on orchids.” He smiled a ‘
there,
there, little missy’
kind of smile and I shot him some stink eye.

“Okay,
if it would make you feel better, I’ll run the number through our database and
see what comes up.” He listened to the message again, jotted something down in
a little notebook he pulled from his shirt pocket, and then handed the phone
back to me. “If it turns out to be anything significant, I’ll let you know.”

I
opened my mouth, then closed it again. I reached over and picked up the silk
pouch from the desk top and silently held it out to him.

He
waved it off and pulled two latex gloves from his pants pocket. He snapped them
on and took the pouch from me. Then he shook the fingernails into his open
right hand.
Ha!
I thought, as I watched him examine the nails.
He’s
left-handed. Wong’s not the only one with an eye for detail
.

“Okay,
Ms. Moon, I’ll take these in and see what we come up with. Until then, I’d
appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourself.”

“No
problem.”

Even
though he’d been stingy with an apology for blowing me off last Thursday, his
attitude change was reward enough. He returned the fingernails to the pouch and
slipped it into a small plastic evidence bag he’d pulled from another pocket of
his pants. He borrowed a black marker pen from my desk and wrote the date and
time at the top of the bag. Finally he wrote
Lets Get M, Lahaina/P. Moon
on a large white square in the middle of the bag. I couldn’t help but be
impressed he remembered my business name, even though he shortened it and he
left out the apostrophe in
Let’s.