you count in the plantation village, it’s really a tragedy, all those important historic buildings gone.”
“But you were planning to tear down the village! Everyone knows that.” Kainoa sounded testy.
“You are almost correct. I wasn’t going to use those buildings for my project, but I had been told by the government that the buildings are important, so I planned to transport them. These days, you can make a small hotel village from old cottages.” Mr. Kikuchi shook his head. “Your coffee place was a very nice, authentic plantation general store. That could have been a centerpiece building for a historic resort somewhere else, like Molokai.”
“I can’t see where a rickety old plantation store from Leeward Oahu would fit on a neighbor island with its own buildings,” Kainoa retorted.
“I’m quite sorry about your loss.” Kikuchi’s slight smile belied his words. “If you are honestly ready to cooperate, Stevens, call my office tomorrow. It will be your last chance, so think carefully. Right now, I must resume my tour of the Pierce property.”
I COULDN’T BRING myself to look at Kainoa after the red truck had disappeared in a cloud of choking black smoke. It was just too depressing. Kainoa hadn’t said much to me, just fished another couple of bottles of Budweiser out of the back of his truck. I’d shaken my head at the beer that he offered me, so he drank one bottle after the next as he drove off the Pierce lands and on to Farrington Highway.
At Kainani’s Aloha station, he didn’t stop but drove straight through, leaving a trio of anxious-looking teenage security guards in his wake. As we passed the hotel, I started to tell him where to turn for the Pineapple Plantation, but he interrupted.
“I know where it is. You gonna open the gate for me?”
“It’s OK, you can just drop me now. You’ve done so much already-”
“You don’t want the family to see you with a moke like me, yah?”
“Of course not.” I handed him the fob with the gate entrance chip and told him how to swipe it. Slowly, the gates parted and I directed Kainoa how to drive on. Looking around at the emerald lawns still being sprinkled, I felt embarrassed. “I’m staying in the third house on the left-oops, did I miss it?” I was confused, because although I recognized the breadfruit tree by the walkway, a different vehicle was in the driveway-a white Chrysler Sebring convertible with the top down. But then I saw the shoe rack by the door, with my relatives’ sandals. It was definitely our house.
“OK, I’ll just get out here,” I said, waving my hand toward a tree just past the driveway. If I craned my head, I could see beyond the trees into the fenced pool area. There were a lot of children, nannies and parents, but the only Japanese man I could see was Jiro Yoshioka, lying on a chair like a flabby beached whale, with Calvin Morita at his side, both of them directly in the line of vision of two teenage girls splashing in the pool. So much for another hard day in the office.
Kainoa turned off the ignition. “I got a lot of trouble to take care of. Don’t think I’ll see you again.”
“You know, I’m here another three and a half weeks. I’d like to stay in touch as things progress. Where can I find you?” I was more worried about his situation with Mitsuo Kikuchi than I was about the Shimura land.
“I stay in Makaha. You already got my card, but just in case…” Kainoa fished a takeout restaurant menu out of the glove compartment and scrawled a number on it. “It’s OK if you don’t call. I got a lot of shit going down, as you saw.”
“I understand.” I broke off because I caught a flash of movement in the passenger side mirror. Michael Hendricks, wearing khaki shorts, a rusty-red polo shirt and his Topsiders, was heading straight for us.
17
“I WAS BEGINNING to wonder where everyone had gone.” Michael’s gaze slid from me to Kainoa.
“Michael, this is Kainoa Stevens. He owns the coffee shop I told you about.”
Kainoa looked at Michael, perplexed. “I thought your cousin was Japanese.”
“Hey, I was born on the Japanese island of Kyushu.” Michael grinned at him. “Can’t you tell?”
I burst out laughing, because this was something I had no idea about, but could very well be true, since Michael’s father had been in the Navy. I said, “Michael’s an old friend. He lived here for a while, and arrived last night for Transpac.”
“Oh, the hot-shot boat race,” Kainoa said in the same exaggerated accent. “Or should I say regatta? What do haoles call it?”
“Call it whatever you want. I don’t really care.” The warmth in Michael’s tone had evaporated.
“Used to live here, huh? Where did you go to high school?” Kainoa asked.
“Near Manoa Valley,” Michael answered.
“Punahou?”
“Don’t tell me you’re also a graduate?” Michael returned the volley.
“No way, man. I’m a proud graduate of Kamehameha-you know, the school for Hawaiians.”
“Everyone in Hawaii seems very interested in high school,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I hated mine, so I put those years behind me as fast as I could. Well, thanks for the ride back, Kainoa. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure. And remember, don’t be a stranger-you’ve got my number!” Kainoa swaggered back to his truck, made a U-turn, and burned rubber heading out of the cul-de-sac.
“Well, it was awfully nice of him to give me a ride,” I said to Michael. “Though it wasn’t very nice of him to call you a haole. About the phone number, I’ll gladly explain…”
“You don’t need to explain anything. I know you have a vast network of friends. But I had really hoped that this week you were planning on dating me. But now I learn I’m just an old friend.”
“What else could I say? And I’m not dating Kainoa. He’s a recent acquaintance.”
“I see.” Michael shook his head, looking at me. “From the way he looked in his overall, and the state of your clothes, I wonder what you were doing: climbing all over him?”
I glanced down at my tank top, once red and white, and now covered with black ash. “Obviously some of the ash is from running through burned fields. But yes, I hugged Kainoa briefly when I found him, because he was so upset. Like he told you, he lost everything in the fire.”
“I’m sorry for anyone hurt by the fire,” Michael said. “But something tells me it’s not a good thing that you’ve made this acquaintance.”
“Really? Give me one good reason.”
Michael shrugged. “Can’t really explain. It’s my gut.”
Gut instinct was everything-in antiques or spying-so I tried to sound reasonable in my protest. “I appreciate your concern, Michael, but I’ve learned a lot about the island from Kainoa. And his connections are amazing. Today, as we were driving across the Pierce fields, we ran into the Pierce family’s lands manager chauffeuring Mitsuo Kikuchi, the Japanese investor who’s trying to buy and develop more beachfront property from Josiah Pierce. It was an incredible stroke of luck, meeting Kikuchi in advance of Josiah Pierce; I’ll have something interesting to tell him.”
“Maybe I slept through you telling me about a Josiah Pierce meeting last night,” Michael said. “When and where is it?”
“One o’clock, at his home on Tantalus Road. It’s north of Honolulu.”
“I know where Tantalus is. It’s a beautiful historic neighborhood built on a mountain-rather remote, but the residents like it that way.”
“What’s your schedule this afternoon? Can you go with me?” I asked impulsively.
“Of course. But you’re so independent; why would you want me tagging along?”
“Oh, just to clue me in on your gut instincts.”
“Well, I’d better tell you that I may be a liability, in this case. In my class at Punahou there was a boy named Will Pierce, who might be related to your Pierce. His father’s name was like a girl’s name, Lindy or something…”
“Lindsay,” I said. “Lindsay Pierce is the younger brother of Josiah Pierce the Second. And don’t be so pessimistic; maybe finally this Punahou thing will finally play in your favor.”
“It won’t be a good thing. Will and I had a series of fights the year I was in school. Our fathers talked, if you
