a Touch of the Past (An Everly Gray Adventure) (15 page)

Pierce ran his hand around the back of his neck.
 

Annie smashed her lips together in a tight line.
 

"Well, do either of you have a better suggestion?"
 

Silence.

I slid my sunglasses from their resting place on the top of my head, and wiped the pollen off with the edge of my t-shirt. I needed some clean clothes before I did anything else. I grabbed Pierce’s shoulder. "Stop there. See that store with the beach towels hanging in front of it?"
 

"Why?" A man of few words.

"So I can buy a clean shirt. No one’s going to talk to me when I look like I’ve been dumpster diving."
 

"She has a point about the timing, Pierce. Now is perfect for her to wander the neighborhood. All eyes will have been on the disinterment, and you know how efficient the Hawaiian underground is. I’m not sure about the clean shirt, though."
 

"Are you saying people were watching me? Eyes were hiding in the grass and shrubs? That’s bordering on creepy, but even if they did intrude on my…emotion…saw me get dirty…oh, hell. Clean is more dignified than dirty, and I need to get my dignity on." My voice cracked.
 

Pierce grumbled, but pulled into a parking spot, and checked his watch. "Ten minutes, tops. Too crowded in there. Too many locals who know things I don’t."

We piled out of the Jeep. I was acutely aware that the attention of everyone in the parking lot was focused on me, their combined gaze stripping me down to bare essentials—like motive opportunity, and truth.
 

Thirteen

There were way too many
people staring at me. Proof that Hawaiians kept track of what happened in their neighborhoods. I barely looked at the t-shirts, just grabbed a white with an innocuous map of Oahu decorating the front, and paid for it.
 

Climbing back into the Jeep was a relief. "Holy Mamma Mia. Do they eyeball all tourists that way, or is it just me?"

"You," Pierce said, not stretching his vocabulary.

Annie nudged me. "They loved your grandmother, and they’re curious about you. At least that’s the vibe I was picking up, not anything malicious."
 

"Right. Love is all around." I hated the sarcastic bite attached to my words, so I focused on centering myself while I struggled out of my dirty shirt—shedding my attitude along with the stains. And then I spent a moment in gratitude that I was wearing a sports bra instead of something lacey and revealing.
 

Not that I was prudish, but there's something about stripping down in a parking lot that was bare-ass conspicuous. Sighing, I slipped the new t-shirt over my head, and inhaled the clean, cotton-y scent. It was soothing in an ordinary, mundane way that nothing else could have been.

 
Pierce pulled the Jeep onto the side of the road a few yards from the turnoff to my grandmother’s house. There were several wooden homes lining the street, all beaten from the tropical weather, and all wearing the look of permanent residents. Laundry hung from makeshift clotheslines and scarred washing machines adorned the porches—along with whatever else wouldn’t fit inside the houses. The neighborhood shouted both home and no trespassing.

It was time to do my thing.
 

"How about you let me out?" It was a tentative question because both Pierce and Annie were sending out "worried" vibes.
 

Annie glanced at Pierce, they did their silent communication thing, and then she jumped out of the Jeep, effortless and graceful. "Before you go running off, we need to have a plan. Preferably something that will keep you safe."

I shrugged. "There’s no way to do that. If you guys are visible, no one will open their doors. Seriously. Look at this neighborhood. They know who belongs, can probably sense our foreign presence from miles away. I just hope I look harmless, and enough like my grandmother—"
 

"Not a chance in hell you look harmless, Niele," Pierce said, reaching under the front seat. He rummaged around, brought out a cell phone, messed with it, then tossed it to me. "Take this with you. Keep it in your pocket."
 

I palmed the phone, and a few foggy images of Pierce hit my radar. Nothing worth noting. "What is it?"
 

"Think of it as a pimped out version of me." He grinned.

My mouth dropped open. "Right. Got that part." I turned it over in my hand to see if there were any buttons I could push.
 

He tapped my hand, then winked. "Don't mess with it. I've turned on the GPS tracking and a microphone. You screw it up, you're on your own."

Annie wrinkled her forehead. "I’m not sure—"
 

Pierce jerked his head in the direction of my grandmother’s house. "Damage is already done. Should be safe."
 

I slipped the pimped out phone in my pocket, straightened my shoulders, and took a few steps down the road. "Don’t forget to listen in," I said, waving.

Confusion dogged my steps. Why were they letting me do this with so little discussion? It was out of character for both of them, and tingles of warning inched down my spine. Did Pierce have something planned for when I was out of sight? He wouldn’t send me into danger. Well usually he wouldn’t…unless he had an exemplary reason that was based on the accuracy of his leprechaun genes.
 

I wrapped my hand around the phone, needing to feel a connection to my backup team—the ones with weapons, and the skill to use them well and wisely.
 

When I got to the end of my grandmother’s driveway, I looked around to see which house would've had the best view of the fire. Near as I could tell, it was the dingy-green one sitting on a prime corner lot. It was the largest house around, and had several addresses painted on the front. I fingered the phone again as I approached the front door and knocked. Should I let my fingertips touch the wood or not?
 

It opened before I had a chance to decide. The man standing in the doorway was maybe two or three inches taller than me, bulky, had on a dirty t-shirt, print shorts, and no shoes. Tough feet, tan and calloused.
 

He startled when he met my gaze. "Yah, wot?"
 

Okay, so not a warm welcome, but he didn’t slam the door in my face, or worse, not open it at all. "There was a fire…" I pointed in the direction of my grandmother’s house.
 

His attention wandered from me to a vague, unknown location. He shrugged.
 

This was not going well. Maybe the family approach. "My grandmother lived there."
 

He started to close the door. "You niele. No neez know."
 

The door slammed hard enough to shake the porch, and I had the distinct impression he wasn’t referring to my Hawaiian name, but to the unfortunate
nosey
connotation attached to it.
 

I backed away from the door, blew out a breath and looked around for another likely door to knock on. I spotted some movement several houses down, so I headed in that direction. Maybe if I approached someone who was already outside my inquisition would go better.
 

 
This unsuspecting target was bent over an old car, hood propped open, hands buried in the engine, his ass hiked up over the fender. Patterns of sweat stained his shirt, and his backside was barely worth a footnote. I stayed several feet away, not knowing what he had in his hand, or if it could be used as a weapon. But then, according to Annie just about anything could be used as a weapon.
 

I cleared my throat, and he turned his head, looking me up and down. He smiled, a lecherous gleam lurking behind his muddy hazel eyes. "You lost?" he asked.
 

I scrubbed my hands over my bare arms, happy to see real dirt under my fingernails—so much cleaner than the ugly lust clinging to his gaze. "No. Just wondering about the house that burned down."
 

His eyes narrowed, and he slithered out from under the hood. "You haole wahine," he said roughly and quickly closed the distance between us, flicking my cheek with a grubby finger. "Don’t belong here, yah?"
 

The scent of hot axel grease twisted in my lungs. I backed away, rubbing his touch from my cheek with one hand, and squeezing the life out of the phone with the other. I dug my toes into the soft rubber of my flip-flops. Slippahs. Didn’t matter what I called them since they wouldn’t protect my toes if I kicked him in the balls.
 

A long creaky sound sliced through the tension, and then a screen door slammed shut.
 

"Aiyah." The male voice came from behind me, his footsteps hitting the road with soft, determined thuds. I spun to face a very old man moving toward us, spine straight, brittle energy in every step as he shook his finger at us.
 

My heart stuttered to a standstill, then hammered beneath my breastbone. There was something about him.

"No make li’dat." His voice floated on the air, wispy with age, strong with character.

He angled his head, looking deep into my eyes. Sounds mingled, fading into background noise, and my hammering heart slowed to a butterfly touch against my ribs. Time collapsed around us.

His image filled my vision—skin the color of rich tobacco that crinkled when he frowned, shorter than me, and a good twenty pounds lighter. I figured he’d blow away with the first big gust of wind. His grip on my arm was strong enough to leave bruises, but a profound sense of peace flowed through his touch, telling me I was safe. He led me to his house, up a flight of stairs to the entrance, and then gently pushed me inside.
 

I glanced back through the screen as it creaked closed behind me. The dude bending over the car grinned, shrugged, and went back to whatever he’d been doing under the hood.
 

The old man let go of me and stepped out of his slippahs, leaving them with a pile of others just inside the front door. The floor was polished wood and I immediately understood why all the shoes were by the door.
 

I left mine with the others, and followed him into a small room that opened onto a lanai. The railing was framed with bright purple bougainvillea. Large pillows, covered in vibrant Hawaiian print fabric, were scattered around the floor.
 

"Please sit." He motioned toward a pillow, all trace of pidgin erased from his speech. And then he left the room for a moment, returning with two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to me as he settled on a pillow adjacent to mine.
 

"Thank you—" I waved in the direction of the front door— "for rescuing me."
 

The scent of freshly squeezed lemons and crushed mint leaves tickled my nose and I couldn’t resist taking a long swallow of the cool drink. It tasted heavenly after my brief encounter with the lecherous mechanic—sweet tangy citrus with the lingering bite of spearmint.

The old man bowed, his gaze never leaving my face as he set his glass down. The silence was slightly unnerving, and I sipped my drink to break the energy humming between us.

He held his hands out, waited for a moment, and then nodded for me to set my glass on the table. The invitation was clear, and I took his hands, holding them gently. Images floated across my mind as my fingertips touched his skin and his words landed lightly against my ears in a tender caress. "I am Kahuna Aukele, and you are Makani Maliu’s granddaughter."
 

"Where is my grandfather?" I blurted, the words coming out in a rush. "How can I find him? Is he safe?"
 

Aukele smiled with soul-deep knowledge. I hadn’t found that place yet in my own soul, and it both saddened and calmed me. Aukele closed his eyes and breathed. Not simple inhale-slash-exhale breathing, but something that took us to another place. Something…yoga, maybe.
 

Time warped, condensed, exploded. We sat there for years and yet only minutes passed. I didn’t know when my eyes drifted closed, or when peace invaded my heart. And somehow when new images began to fill my internal screen, they didn’t startle me, but drifted through my awareness with ease and a sense of belonging.
 

Tears welled.

And when he spoke, my heartbeat stumbled, tripping over the joy.
 

"Welcome to my home, Granddaughter."

Fourteen

Granddaughter.
 

A ball of emotion swelled in my throat, hot and tight. My Grandfather. I memorized his face—skin that had been sun-kissed for many years, eyes and mouth framed with laugh lines, dark brown eyes warm with wisdom and love. I thumbed through my mental storage bin of images and found the one with him hugging my grandmother. The picture my fingers had picked up from Kulele. It was in vibrant color, almost like they were standing in front of me. They’d been younger in Kulele’s memory, their hair still dark and vibrant with life, but now I knew that it was definitely my grandfather who had his arm around Makani.