Facing Kawika again, Jarvis said, “Nowadays they don’t study Kū at her age. Kū comes later.”
“Lono, Pele, but not Kū,” said Kawika, smiling at his cousin. “Just the cuddly gods.”
“Pele’s not cuddly,” Jarvis admonished.
After Ku‘ulei had been tucked in, the men sat facing the sea in plastic lawn chairs, resting their feet on the low lava rock wall. When Jarvis asked about the case, Kawika told him what he knew, but didn’t mention KKL’s receptionist Joan Malo, Fortunato’s married lover. Kohala’s a big district but a small place, Kawika reasoned.
Listening, Jarvis grunted from time to time, then asked more questions. “I can tell you one or two things,” he finally offered. “Might help a bit.”
Kawika nodded. “Please,” he said.
“Okay. Then first, your Mr. Fortunato? Lives up there in a Parker Ranch house. Works hard at fitting in. Wants people to think he’s a nice guy. But there’s something funny about that resort. The money’s from Japan, right? So where’s the resident Japanese guy? And where’s the money actually going? You should check.”
“The Japanese guy’s not resident,” said Kawika. “Just seems to fly in and out.”
“Huh. Usually these Japanese developers, they’ve got someone here to keep an eye on things.” Jarvis shrugged, then continued. “Well, anyway, next, your Peter Pukui? An angry young man. He’s in his forties now, I guess. Drug user, like his daddy. Daddy wrecked his car on Highway 19, the Queen K nowadays, got himself killed. Peter’s mom, she’s a haole and a drunk. Wrecked a few cars herself. Now she’s in an old folks’ home.”
“Think he’d kill Fortunato?”
“Like I said, he’s angry and a druggie. Could kill someone, yeah?”
“Yeah, and he’s disappeared. Looks bad.”
Peter Pukui had wanted something to believe in, Jarvis emphasized—something to make him more Hawaiian—so he’d seized on the heiau. “He grew up here,” Jarvis continued. “We’ve got some big heiau. Then Fortunato finds another one up at KKL. So Peter starts his own movement. They meet below Pu‘ukoholā, down where the old Hawaiians sacrificed guys to the sharks. You know that leaning stone, the big pohaku, where the priests watched the sharks feed? That’s where Peter’s group meets.”
Jarvis moved to face his son. “You’ve gotta understand,” he said. “Peter’s group, they’ve got an agenda. They’re not into hula or old ways of catching fish. They’re not like other Native groups, trying to preserve some of the culture. No, they want to bring back the old religion.”
Kawika knew this part of his Hawaiian history: haoles stole the Kingdom, but the Hawaiians themselves overthrew their old religion seventy-five years earlier, right after Kamehameha died and before any missionaries reached the islands. Ka‘ahumanu, the king’s most forceful widow, and his son the new king took the lead. “And God bless ’em,” said Jarvis. “Because the way the old Hawaiians worshipped, they were a bloodthirsty bunch. And Peter’s group, they want to be born-again Hawaiians. They’re in love with the old ways. It’s magic to them. Power. Mana.
“I hope Peter didn’t do this,” Jarvis added. “I hope it was some jealous husband”—So he knows, Kawika thought—“or some Japanese investor. Or folks at the Mauna Lani? They hate Kohala Kea Loa. Folks at Waikoloa Village feel the same. They don’t want the traffic, don’t want the people, don’t want their views messed up. So maybe you wanna check some of those folks too, yeah?”
“Geez, Dad,” replied Kawika. “Think someone from the Mauna Lani would sacrifice a guy on the championship tee box of their signature hole? Doesn’t sound like folks at the Mauna Lani.”
“What folks you know at the Mauna Lani?”
“Well, just the woman who found the body. Interviewed her today.”
“Tourist?”
“Part tourist, part kama‘aina. She owns a condo at the Mauna Lani Point. Patience Quinn.”
Jarvis let out a whoop. “Patience Quinn? From San Francisco?”
“You know her?”
“I know the whole family. They used to stay at the Mauna Kea. Big-money folks, but friendly, lots of aloha. They still golf on our course. Patience Quinn—I don’t believe it. You two played together at the beach when you were kids.”
“Really? I don’t remember. You seen her since she was a girl?”
“Sure,” Jarvis answered. “Once a year at least. She’s a magazine writer, yeah? Did a big story some years back about the fight over the Hapuna Prince Hotel, getting that thing built. Sent me a copy—New York Times, that one. My, my. Little Impy Quinn found the body, eh?”
“Impy?”
“Lots of energy,” Jarvis explained. “Couldn’t sit still. Her mom said, ‘Should’ve named her Impatience.’ They called her Impy for short. She had attention issues, they said. I called her Flea, though. She’d hang on me like Ku‘ulei hangs on you. I’d pretend to scratch at her. I’d shout, ‘A flea! A flea! Gotta scratch this darn flea!’ She’d laugh so hard, she’d finally fall off.” Jarvis chuckled. “She grew up, she married a doctor, like her daddy,” he said. “Nice young fellow.”
“They’re separated now, apparently,” Kawika told him.
“Sorry to hear it.” Jarvis frowned. “Well, if you see her again, say hello for me.”
“I might see her in the morning,” Kawika said, and heard the too-casual note in his own voice. “That reminds me,” he added quickly, “Terry said to tell you, some guys fishing in your spot last night? Caught a hundred-ten-pound ulua.”
Jarvis waited a moment, then spoke.
“How’s Carolyn?” he asked.
10The Mauna Lani
“Do you prefer Impy or Flea?”
Patience Quinn looked astonished, then embarrassed. “Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed. “Detective Wong; Jarvis Wong. I didn’t put it together. You said you were from Hilo—”
“Don’t we look alike, Dad and me?” he teased.
“Not much alike,” she replied, and laughed. “He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen.”
Kawika laughed. “Can we take a walk?” he asked. She nodded, stepped outside, and slipped her sandals on. Kawika turned to Tommy. “Mind picking me up in an hour? At the hotel?”
Tommy blinked. “Yes, boss,” he replied, and turned back.
Kawika and Patience set out toward the Mauna Lani Bay Hotel. With their first steps, they left behind the elevated
