Haole Wood (20 page)

Lois grunted and the other women started laughing and talking. My grandmother clapped.

“Read your label,” Shayna added. “I designed the logo for you.”

I slid my hands all the way down the seam to the small white silky tab. Haole Wood. The first “o” was a sun. “Haole Wood,” I said out loud. What in the world? They all thought I had been talking about Haole Wood? Not Hollywood? Not Hollywood Haute, of course. I pretty much figured I lost that battle with Shayna. But it was supposed to be Hollywood. I know I clearly said that many, many times to them. On what planet would I have ever chosen a politically incorrect term to call these shawls? Really? I felt a red itchy blush creep up my chest. Why didn’t they just go all the way and call them White Folks’ Wraps?

“Do you like it?” Shayna smiled, waiting for her thanks. The other woman nodded at her, then watched me for my response.

Shayna’s face, for once showed real excitement as opposed to her usual superior teen sneer. I looked at the other nineteen wraps, already folded in tissue paper, their shiny new labels tucked snuggly inside the folds. They waited. I could hear a bee buzz through the open window. I could smell herbs from the tea on Lois’s breath. Haole Wood. What were they thinking? I know I clearly said Hollywood, as in celebrities, swimming pools, movie stars . . . fancy-schmancy haute couture fashion. Haole was a not very nice term, and I couldn’t imagine how it would fare as the name of an upscale clothing line.

“Jaswinder?” Lois said.

“It’s perfect! I wouldn’t change a thing.”

My cell phone rang. “Jaswinder? Hollywood? Is that you?” Zev asked.

Have they been calling me Haole Wood this whole time, when I thought they were calling me Hollywood? “Hi, Zev. What’s up?”

“Me and the guys heard something about Mike Hokama’s murder.”

“What? Tell me?” I heard a commotion in the background.

“Can’t talk right now. We’re going surfing tomorrow morning, early, about eight o’clock. Meet us at our super secret surfing spot and we’ll talk then. We’ll teach you how to surf, too.” He gave me directions.

“Great. Can’t wait. But just tell me—” The line went dead. He hung up. What could they know?

The next morning, I pulled on my bathing suit, a T-shirt and grabbed my favorite towel. I was plastered in sunscreen, my face and nose a primitive zinc-oxided mask of sun-repellent. I found the guys just pulling up in the roadside parking space, only a few miles from my grandmother’s house.

“This is it?” I asked, peering over a sheer vertical drop that began about four inches from the front of my grandmother’s parked jeep.

“Yeah,” Zev said. “Tourists don’t come here. It’s sweet.” He had the driver’s side door of his car open and was pulling on his bathing suit. He was very tall.

“But how do you get down to the beach?” I asked. I turned to face Kenny and Bronco so I wouldn’t stare at Zev’s white untanned bits.

“All part of the fun,” Kenny said, grinning. “Here, look. We borrowed a board for you.”

Bronco and his six-pack of abs held up a giant blue fiberglass surfboard that had “Property of the Sheraton” stenciled on it. Nice.

“Thanks. Before we get started, you said you knew something about Mike Hokama’s murder.”

“Well,” Zev said, scraping back his blond hair. “We met this girl—”

Bronco and Kenny laughed. “The best stories always start out like that.”

“Guys, come on. This is important.” I fiddled with my sunglasses.

“Seriously, Jaswinder,” Zev said. “We have a lot of stories like that. We meet a lot of chicks surfing and whatnot and we hear a lot of shit. Anyway, Kenny hooked up with this
wahine
, who he met on the beach the other day. She was gorgeous.”

I nodded, faster and faster, trying to urge him on, but Bronco interrupted. “We call chicks like her
Leis of Our Dives
. You know? ‘Cause man, you wouldn’t believe some of the soap operas going on out there.”

I folded my arms. “Try me.”

“Well,” picked up Kenny. “She was talking about the murder, asking me if I heard about it and all. I just played it cool. She’s a local and said that whoever offed him really had to know what they were doing with that kukui nut oil. She said your grandmother would know, sure, but there are other people who know that kukui nut oil can be poisonous, especially when mixed with other toxic herbs. And get this, she said, ‘they wouldn’t be afraid to use it.’”

“And . . .” I swirled my hand.

“She said she wouldn’t be surprised if that housekeeper didn’t have something to do with it because the housekeeper’s mother used to be a healer too, so she would know how to do the dirty.”

“Lois?” I said.

“Yeah. That’s what she said her name was. Lois.”

“But why? Did she say why Lois would want him dead?”

“Money, probably,” Kenny said.

“Lois.” I flipped up my sunglasses. “I know the police cleared her, but maybe they overlooked something.”

“Come on, now.” Zev said. “Let’s go catch some waves.”

“Guys, thanks, but this is big. I’ve got to go tell the police and get a hold of Halmoni’s attorney.”

“Honey,” Zev said. “Don’t you know? Things are always better after you surf. It’ll keep. Come on, the waves are perfect. Besides, no one is at work yet. It’s Maui. You said you wanted to learn how to surf. Now’s your golden opportunity.” He held out his bent elbow for me to take.

They didn’t take no for an answer and I couldn’t believe I first had to rappel down a freaking cliff before hurtling myself into the churning ocean. At least they carried my surfboard.

“The waves are perfect,” Bronco said, his strong hands catching me by the waist as we finally reached the bottom. My feet gratefully snuggled in the warm sand on the beach, my toes digging little holes. “This is your lucky day.”

If luck meant water up my nose and into every sinus nook and cranny, a bathing suit bottom full of sand, and being stung by a jellyfish, then yes, I thought, it was my lucky day.

“Come on,” Kenny encouraged me. “You’ll catch this one.”

“That’s what you said the other ninety-nine times.”

“We’ll paddle you out,” Bronco said, as Zev turned the nose of my board around yet again. “You almost had it.”

Great. I was so beat up and tired but I knew they weren’t about to let me quit. I complained some more, trying to work the kinks out of my aching neck. It was so hard paddling out to catch a wave. My neck had a cramp in it from trying to lift my head as I paddled on the board. My favorite part was once you got there, out past the break, just sitting up on the surfboard and bobbing along, waiting for a wave. There, I could rock in the warm water, knowing I was in good hands with the boys.

“Leis of our Dives,” I tsk-ed at them. “Tell me more.”

In between waves, they regaled me with stories of their conquests and broken hearts, each saga more unbelievable than the next. Bronco swore he went out with Cameron Diaz. Kenny claimed to have been kidnapped by three Swedish women, and Zev said he did it with a mermaid, in the ocean.

I loved it, until the next wave came along. I would tense up, they would all get me in position and cheer me on. “Paddle, paddle, go, go, go, you got it!” I would push my hands on the board with all my might to stand up, then wobble, then teeter, then wipe out.

“I think you got up that time,” they would say, as I wearily paddled back for more. I was ready to give up. It was just too hard. I was so tired and discouraged. The last wave sent me crashing deep, the tether snapping hard against my ankle. It scared me. I was done.

I lay face down, flat on my big bobbing blue baby board. “I can’t.” I could barely speak. “I’m exhausted.” I coughed as a wave broke over my face and open mouth.

“Come on, Jaswinder. One more time.”

I snorted. They said that about a million times. I felt them turn my board and send me back out, skimming me over the water.

I sat with them, looking over my shoulders, watching the water. Without thinking I kicked my feet up behind me, slid my body forward and began paddling. I felt the waves swell underneath me and begin to lift my board. Faster and faster the water rushed. I braced my hands then jumped to my feet, lifting my right arm and pointing for all I was worth, my left hand stretched to reach perfect balance. The wave lifted me higher and higher, faster and faster as I bent my knees to absorb the ride. I leaned a fraction forward nosing my board down, causing it to dip into the wave, sending me straight down, deeper and deeper, thousands of pounds of water pressure crashing upon me. I went spinning in a washing machine ride of chaos before the ocean spit me back out. Upside down, I saw the sun, I saw the sky. Dazed, I kicked my feet, holding onto my last drop of air before breaking through the surface of the water. I gasped. I gulped and coughed as Zev, Kenny and Bronco swam furiously toward me, their arms churning like crazed windmills.

“Jesus, Jaswinder.” Bronco reached me first and grabbed me under my arms. “Are you alright?”

One giant leap of faith in an ocean I feared, on an island I didn’t belong, against an ancient wisdom I didn’t believe, and the protoplasm in my cells surged as one, stardust in sync with the entire universe.

I lifted my left hand to wipe the water streaming from my eyes and nose and mouth and screamed. “That was awesome!”

They laughed as we treaded water. “That was the best four seconds of my life!” I said.

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Zev said.

I surfed! I thought. I actually honest-to-goodness surfed. I had the bruises and sore muscles to prove it. It was so much harder than it looked, but I couldn’t wait to try it again. I laughed out loud as I pulled away in the jeep, waving goodbye to the surfer boys. I am a surfer! If you do something once it goes on your resume. It had been the most incredible sensation I have ever known. I could see how grown men would quit their jobs, leave their families and forsake all earthly goods to follow the religion of surfing—a harmless cult filled with mysticism, wonder, exhilaration, and joy. The Catholic church had nothing on surfing. Those boys were right, things were much better after catching waves. I felt like I was in harmony with the orbiting earth as I drove home with a song in my heart and sand in my crack.

I called the police and talked to the detectives and then called my grandmother’s lawyer to tell him to step up the investigation on Lois. I agreed to swing by O’Boyle’s office later so we could talk about it more.

I ran upstairs to my room, peeling off my sandy bathing suit. For once, the fact that I had no job, no money, and a grandmother accused of murdering a guy that I myself was photographed licking, didn’t bring me down. Even the image of my pain-in-the-arse guardian angel seemed to have been washed clean and made pretty in the morning’s surf. I saw things more clearly than I had in a long time.

I was singing in the shower when Jac called and left a message on my cell. The results were in. I couldn’t believe it. I called back to make sure I understood him.

“No, Jaswinder, it’s not good news.”

I swallowed.

“It’s great news.” Jac laughed. “The fabric alone is decent protection. The weave and density of the material sets its sun protection factor at 22 to 25, which is really good, considering a T-shirt is about SPF 8. Remember, the higher the number, the better the protection. But get this, the treated fabric, the stuff your granny cooked in her kukui nut oil concoction? It tests at an SPF 30. So there really is something to that. Good stuff. You should patent that brew. And that’s coming from a board certified dermatologist.”

“A surfboard certified dermatologist,” I teased him. “Wow. That is awesome news. Thanks for doing this for me, Jac. Keep your fingers crossed, I set up shop tomorrow.”

“Jaswinder. I am serious. As a dermatologist, I think you have something here. You should have your grandmother write down the ingredients and patent it. This is proprietary information and I think it’s really unique. Do you know exactly what she uses?”

“No idea. I know there’s kukui nut oil in it, but I’ve seen her put some other stuff in it as well. I told you, she’s pretty amazing.”

“Yes she is,” he agreed. “How do you like your sunshmina?”

“I wear it all the time. It really keeps me cool and keeps the sun off me. And thanks for calling it a sunshmina. Why did you ask if I liked it? Hey, do you want to buy some for your patients?”

“No, but you know what? You can put them in my office to sell. I won’t charge you anything, except maybe you could let me take you out to dinner sometime.”

“It’s a date.” Why did I say that? “I mean deal. Thanks. I could bring some over on Monday? I have to run, I’m headed to O’Boyle’s office. I heard some really disturbing news.”

“About the case? Tell me?”

“Later. It could be nothing more than gossip, but I do want to talk to him.”

“Your call. I’ve got to go. Warts, moles and rashes are calling my name.”

“You smooth talker.”

“I try.”

“Thanks, again, Jac, for the SPF info and all your help. Talk to you soon.”

I clicked end on my phone and tried to hang up my smile as I did. I knew I would be leaving this island soon, romancing Jac invited heartache.

I stopped in at O’Boyle’s law office and told him about what the surfers said about Lois. He listened to my whole story before speaking. “Lois has an alibi that she wasn’t there at the time of death,” he said. “But, poison can be tricky, especially if the victim unknowingly ingests it himself. She does have money problems.” O’Boyle fiddled with his glasses.

“Was she stealing from Mike?” I asked. “Or, trying to blackmail him about something? Maybe that’s it. She was his housekeeper and probably had access to a lot of his secrets. True, they were cousins, but I swear most of the locals on this island have crazy, complicated family ties. One other thing. She is known for a nasty temper.” I nodded the nod of the self-righteous.

O’Boyle held up his hand. “A lot of Hawaiian women are strong matriarchs and don’t suffer fools gladly.”