Molokai Reef (6 page)

He
greeted their server Keali
‘
i
as she slid a basket of holiday green tortilla chips and a tub of
salsa onto the table. He had met her during his first sail to the
island a few weeks earlier. When asked, she would describe herself
as a “short Hawaiian girl.” Here in the restaurant,
Keali‘i stood about five-five, but Gybe knew that barefoot on
the beach, she barely broke five two. True to her Polynesian
ancestry, her hair was black and her light chocolate skin wrapped
tightly around a sensual figure. Raised on the island as the
daughter of a paniolo (Hawaiian cowboy) who rode for the Moloka‘i
Ranch, Keali‘i was thirty-one years old. She had graduated
with a degree in ocean sciences from the University of Hawai‘i
Manoa campus. Manoa was part of Honolulu on the island of O‘ahu.

Gybe
introduced the two women. Comparing their hands, he judged that the
two women were about the same age. In this botox injected, silicone
boosted, liposuct’ed, whitened, tightened, and tinted era,
hands were the only unaltered age-indicator on women. Although, his
friend Mongoose claimed that he could predict a woman’s age by
looking at the back of her knees.

“
Keali‘i,”
Gybe said, “what’s with the tortilla chips? I don’t
think of chips and salsa as typical Hawaiian fare.”

“
You’re
right, except for here at the hotel, chips and salsa are as rare as
nēnē.” She turned to Kara. “Nēnē,”
Keali‘i pronounced it nay nay, “is the rare and protected
Hawaiian goose. They are our state birds.”

“
The
restaurant manager agreed to test market the new chips. What do you
think of them?”

“
They’re
grrrrreat.” Gybe threw his best Tony the Tiger impersonation.
“Last night after a few beers and a basket of these chips I
felt no pain. Mellow. The chips are the perfect complement to a
fine amber ale.”

Behind
her menu, he saw Kara roll her eyes at his culinary savoir-fare.

“
Can
I get a bag to go when we finish lunch?”

“
We
don’t normally do take-out, but just for you Gybe,” she
semaphored with her eyelashes, “I’ll put together a bag
to go.”

“
Mahalo
Keali‘i.”

Kara,
pretending to read the menu, missed nary a flutter.

“
Can
I get you guys a drink while you’re looking at the menu?”
Keali‘i turned to Kara.

Kara
ordered a mai tai while Gybe opted for Fire Rock Ale from Kona
Brewing. They scanned the menus in silence. Silent except for the
sound of munching chips.

In a
few minutes, Keali‘i returned with their drinks.

Locking
eyes with their server, Kara ordered a mahimahi sandwich and a tossed
salad.

“
I’ll
have the grilled ahi sandwich; hold the special sauce or mayo, a
salad, and fries.” Gybe returned the menu to Keali‘i.

“
That
menu was Greek to me. Mahimahi was the only thing I recognized.”
Kara said.

“
You’ll
catch on soon enough. It didn’t take me long to learn many of
the common Hawaiian words. The ahi in the sandwich that I ordered is
one of the many kinds of tuna.”

“
Pronunciation
can be intimidating, but it is quite simple. Once you figure out the
syllables, just pronounce each one. Don’t try to say the words
too quickly. Remember, you’re on island time now.”

Keali‘i
returned with their lunch and as she sat it on the table, Gybe
ordered another round of drinks.

Eyeing
the empty restaurant and always recruiting for
Oceans
Now
, Kara invited Keali‘i
to join them when she returned with the second round of drinks.

“
Sure,
I’m due for a break and it’s slow – thanks.”

Between
bites, Kara asked Keali‘i why after all the work to become an
ocean scientist, she was waiting tables at the Hotel Moloka‘i.

While
they ate, Keali‘i explained that after receiving her Master of
Science degree she chose to return to Moloka‘i rather than go
to work for some company on the mainland.

“
Aren’t
there companies in Hawai‘i that you could work for?”
Kara asked.

“
Some,
but not many. It’s frustrating. Hawai‘i sits in the
middle of the Pacific Ocean yet most of the companies that work in
the marine environment are on the mainland. We have a few
aquaculture firms, a couple biotech companies that are extracting
pharmaceuticals from ocean life, and a half-hearted attempt at
developing technology for extracting energy from ocean waves.”

She
paused. “Sorry about the rant. I want to work in Hawai‘i.
I grew up here, I like to surf, dive, swim, canoe – anything
to do with the ocean. My ohana is here.”

“
Ohana?”

“
Ohana
means extended family. It includes my brothers and sisters, parents,
grandparents, aunties, uncles, their kids… - almost a
community. Our culture is based on the ohana.”

With
a bit too much sarcasm Gybe thought, Kara asked, “How does an
ocean scientist help her community by waiting tables?”

“
Oh,
this is part time and temporary. I’m continuing my studies as
a doctoral candidate at UH. I use a broadband Internet station at
the Maui Community College campus. They have an extension branch
here on the east side of town. Every other semester I return to
O‘ahu for face time with my professors. Meanwhile, I’ve
submitted a grant proposal to fund my research.”

“
What
is the subject of your research?” Gybe asked.

“
The
reef. You swim and dive, right Gybe?”

“
Sure,
as much as I can. But to be honest, I’ve found that most of
your reef is dead.”

Keali‘i
spelled out some of the problems. Tourists clumsily break coral
formations with their flippers while snorkeling, and though it was
against the law, tourists and local entrepreneurs collect corals and
shells to take home or sell. Urban runoff floods the reefs with
trash. Poor agriculture practices allow tons of silt to wash into
coastal waters with each rain. The silt chokes the delicate corals
and anemones. Unlike many more environmentally conscious states,
Hawai‘i has very lax laws controlling the run-off from
construction sites.

“
My
ancestors subsisted on the bounty of the sea. But today, poor
economic conditions and lazy habits have caused overfishing of
coastal waters. Lazy fishermen and greedy fishermen use throw nets
and set nets to harvest beyond their needs. Ancient Hawaiians did
not use nets.”

Kara
nodded in agreement. “Keali‘i, you sound like a woman
with a mission. Good luck. If you need my help, let me know. I can
review your grant application, if you want.”

“
Here’s
my business card. E-mail your address. When I return to Mendocino
I’ll contact some of the people that I know.”

Remembering
Susan’s contention about the corn companies, Gybe questioned
Keali‘i before she left.

“
Maybe.”
Keali‘i responded. “There are so many factors affecting
the reef that it is possible that there are side effects from the
genetic research on corn. Can I get you guys anything else?”

“
No
thanks, I’m pau.” Gybe answered.

“
Pau?”
Kara arched her eyebrows.

“
Pau,”
Gybe pronounced it pow, “means done, finished, complete …
it’s a great word that you’ll hear often.”

“
What’s
next?”

“
I
want to see what the newspapers have to say and I want to look around
Susan’s house.”

11

Kara
turned left from the hotel parking lot, steered the ’vair
towards Kaunakakai, and mashed the accelerator. Soon, the heavy,
engine-toting rear end of the car stopped swaying and began tracking
the hood ornament. Within minutes, the car accelerated to match the
35-mph speed limit. There were neither seat belts nor airbags. A
thin layer of paint padded the steel dashboard. If a collision
appeared imminent, Gybe selected bailing out as his survival tactic.
He rode with his right hand fastened to the door handle.

He
pointed at convenience store and told Kara to stop. “Don’t
forget, we can’t back up.”

Kara
rolled the car parallel to the sidewalk.

Inside
the store, Gybe purchased copies of the
Honolulu Advertiser
and
Honolulu Star-Bulletin
.

“
Why
are you getting the
Advertiser
? Are you looking for another
car?” Kara asked.

“
No.
The
Advertiser
is a statewide newspaper. I don’t know
how they ended up with the name. On the other hand, maybe they
should be complimented for their honesty.”

Kara
drove to the house. Plantation owners had built it to house their
workers. Weathered clapboard, perhaps once painted gray, covered the
exterior of the simple square design. A porch, or lanai as they say
in Hawai‘i, three steps above ground level, crossed the front
of the building. The front railing was missing and the end rails
teetered.

They
approached the front door. Gybe opened the screen and checked the
door. It didn’t budge. “Gotta key?”

“
No.
Let’s try the side door.”

A
deadbolt lock secured the side door where a notice denied entrance
except on police business. Gybe tried the window to the right of the
door. Through the windowpane, he could see that it was unlocked. He
lifted the lower window, then bowed motioning ladies first to Kara.
She climbed through the window and unlocked the side door.

They
had entered the kitchen. Divided into quarters, the efficient floor
plan contained four rooms – kitchen, living, bedroom, and
bedroom. They wandered through the rooms.

In
the second bedroom, Kara pulled aside a curtain of beads to reveal a
Porta Potti in the closet.

“
Nice
bathroom. Where’s the rest of it?”

“
Hey,
Mendocino gal, this is back to nature. I saw a garden hose out back.
Da shower. What else do you need?”

Gybe
snagged the
Honolulu Star-Bulletin
and grabbed a chair at the
kitchen table. Even after four days, the murders on Moloka‘i
remained on the front page.

Gybe
skimmed the stories, picking out the highlights.

According
to the lead story, Maui County Police officials had a suspect, Susan
Combs, in custody. Ms. Combs owned Ocean Construction Company, Inc.
headquartered on the Big Island. One anonymous police source had
told the reporter “We have witnesses who can put Ms. Combs at
the scene of the crime.”

Witnesses?
Susan had told him that she went out by herself and drifted in the
channel. Now, the police were claiming they had witnesses. “Susan
lied,” he said aloud.

“
Huh?”

“
Your
friend, Susan, lied to us. According to this story, the police have
witnesses.”

Before
Kara could respond, Gybe held up his hand and returned to the
newspaper.

According
to the reporter, Maui County Police had arrested Susan twice during
protests at SynCorn, Inc
.
An unnamed source at the Kaunakakai
police station told the reporter that they believe she participated
in the destruction of a test plot of corn owned by GeNesRus Ltd
.
Moreover, she had organized protests at the companies where the
victims worked, as well as, most of the other seed companies with
research plots on Moloka‘i. Not surprisingly, she was a
co-defendant along with a weekly island newspaper in a pending libel
suit. In several instances over the past eighteen months, the local
paper has quoted Susan as saying, “… corn companies and
their genetic engineering are murdering the reef system of the
Hawaiian Islands.”

Recapping
the crime, two paragraphs revealed that a passing sailor had
discovered the two victims on the ocean floor, inside the fringe reef
on the south side of Moloka‘i. The site of the discovery was
near the old Kolo Wharf, about ten miles west of Kaunakakai.

The
police identified the victims as Dr. Ray Wilson of Kualapu‘u,
Moloka‘i, and Dr. J. Splicer of Kaunakakai. Both victims were
research scientists specializing in genetic engineering. Dr. Wilson
worked for SynCorn, Inc. GeNesRus, Inc. employed Dr. Splicer. A
sidebar provided background information on SynCorn and GeNesRus.

According
to the county Medical Examiner, the time of death was between 9:00
p.m. and midnight on Monday, about thirty-six hours before the
discovery. The M.E. did not release the cause of death. An
anonymous source told the reporter that the bodies were sunk in
concrete.

No
shit, thought Gybe, as he continued reading. If the reporter had
seen the bodies dangling from the chain draped across Gybe’s
anchor, she would have been a bit more graphic in the description.

The
focus of the article shifted to the murder victims.

Gybe
read that Dr. Wilson, the male victim, and his wife had lived in
Kualapu‘u, a small town in the center of the island. Sharon
Wilson taught school at the Moloka‘i High School, near their
home. Married for ten years, the couple had two children.