“Okay, that means the koi pond should be just over here,” she said, turning in a new direction. She followed the stone path that seemed to be more serendipitous than organized.
Getting waist-deep into weeds and shrubs, she found where the bees were coming from. The ground she was standing on was dry, but if she went any lower, she’d be in muck. Of everything out in the sunshine, that was the greenest area she’d found, and had the most flowers blooming. With a simple outline of boulders in a kidney shape, Gina figured that was the old koi pond. Between the bees and the sunburn that had started, she’d had enough of the afternoon sun for one day. Following the tiny trickle of a stream that connected the old pond to the Manoa Stream, she soon found the luxury of shade. Finding a spot to sit on a smooth rock, she took off her sneakers and soaked her feet in the cool water.
“Definitely not in Cleveland anymore.” She splashed water on her face and arms to cool off. She took a long, deep breath of the fresh air and watched small doves pecking in the dirt. They made a peculiar cooing noise, a lonely wha-wha- hoo-hooo sound. “This is Christmas? Soaking my feet, getting sunburnt, and sweating while watching doves? I can live with this.”
Wondering if jetlag was setting in or if she was tired from the hike, she let her eyes close. With something proper to recline on, she could’ve slept. She almost did, except a hammering sound came from across the estate grounds. Trying to figure the direction, she scanned the distance. As far as she knew, there weren’t any construction projects going, certainly not on Christmas day. After watching for a while, she saw the glint of sunlight reflecting off a pickup truck parked near where her house would be. After a few more minutes, someone went to the truck.
“Now what?” Concerned the few things she’d brought were being stolen, she got her shoes back on. “I don’t think that was Felix. He’s supposed to be at home with his wife.”
She hurried along a narrow trail beneath the trees until she got to a wooden bridge over the stream. Figuring it was the same bridge they’d crossed the night before, she followed the driveway to her house.
That’s where she found an older man carrying bundles of roofing material to a ladder that leaned against the side of the house. He seemed to notice her as she walked toward him, but paid her no mind as he climbed the ladder, a bundle of shingles balanced on one shoulder.
Gina stood at the bottom of the ladder watching the man. “May I help you?”
He acted as though she wasn’t there when he came back down for another load of three-tab roofing shingles. The little hair he had on his head was white, and his darkly-tanned face was creviced by decades of age. Asian and not as tall as her, and wearing a tool belt around his waist, he walked bow-legged. She went with him to his truck.
“Hi. My name’s Gina. I just moved into the house last night.” She followed him back to where he started climbing the ladder with another bundle of shingles on one shoulder. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”
When the old man stayed on the roof, Gina figured he either had enough shingles to keep him busy for a while, or had had enough of her. She hadn’t had enough answers yet, though, and when her curious police officer mind kicked in, she climbed the ladder after him.
What she found was that palm fronds had been removed and tossed off the side of the house, exposing decking that was covered with tar paper. Several rows of shingles had already been nailed down, and the man was adding a new row, using a hammer.
“I don’t know who you are, but you don’t have to work on Christmas, Sir.”
That at least got a glance from him, in between nails.
“Did Felix ask you to come work on the roof today?”
He worked quickly, needing only three swings of his hammer to drive nails. Ignoring her questions seemed to help in his progress of covering her roof with a fresh later of shingles.
“Seriously, Sir, it’s pretty hot up here on the roof, and you really don’t need to work on Christmas. This can wait until Monday.”
He almost seemed annoyed when he refilled his tool belt and shirt pocket with more nails from a large box. Taking her the box of nails, he handed over a second hammer. Without speaking a word, he showed her how to line up the bottom edge of a new sheet of three-tab with the previous layer, and pointed with his finger on where to put the nails. He went so far as to put the hammer in her hand the right way. After watching her hammer a few nails, he started working on a different section of the roof.
“If the people at home saw this, I wonder what they’d say?” Gina muttered, as she swung the hammer, giving her own thumbnail a solid whack. “Mom would be wringing her hands,
