Chapter 6

6

As I walked out of the store, I decided to take a walk around town to burn off some energy. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over Ohia. I found myself walking up toward the church at the top of the hill, my mind churning over the events of the day. I enjoyed the sensation of a good huff and puff as my Nikes ate up the bumpy old blacktop and I passed the orderly streets of Ohia, each named for a Hawaiian flower, each lined with little plantation style homes that had once been housing for workers of pineapple fields that were long gone.

Once I reached the church, which was closed as usual but still charming to walk around, I browsed the graveyard behind it, coming to a stop beside the row of polished circular black stones that marked the Chang family’s resting places.

I stared at the stones, reflecting on the last time I was here. I’d walked among them with Pua as she told me her family’s history, how Ohia was where the Changs, a notorious organized crime family, had gotten their start in Hawaii.

I was so thankful Pua and I had worked out our differences, but even more so, that the hold of her family’s crime syndicate had loosened and fallen away from the town now that the state had taken back ownership of their corrupt development, New Ohia.

Would that have happened if I hadn’t been placed here as Postmaster by my boss in the Secret Service? I had been the one to crack the case and expose what was going on. Yes, I’d had a lot of help—but without me, New Ohia would likely be moving forward, changing this area forever—and not for the better.

I was making a difference in this town. I was doing good here. Helping people, and not just from behind the counter of the post office.

And yeah, I’d made a bad call about the ornament and left it vulnerable—but I might still be able to find it before the auction and redeem myself.

I browsed on among the gravestones—and came to a simple plinth decorated with a couple of macaroni necklaces and a vase of browning gardenias. Beloved Wife And Mother, MICHELLE NAKASONE , the headstone read. Always in Our Hearts.

The weight of the investigation Aunt Fae had entrusted us with sat heavily on my shoulders—but seeing the grave, I remembered two ornery motherless girls for whom Christmas was no longer merry.

Sandy and Windy Nakasone were on their front porch, surrounded by battered boxes of decorations. Their two kittens, brother and sister to Tom and Jerry and Tiki’s offspring, were making untangling the strings of lights difficult.

My heart ached a little at the sight. It had been two years since their mother passed away, but the holidays were still hard for them.

“Kat!” Sandy called out, waving me over. “Can you help us put these decorations up before Dad gets home?”

I jogged up their driveway, pushing aside my worries about the missing ornament. “Glad I was passing by. Of course!”

Windy, the younger of the two, grinned sheepishly. “We want to surprise Dad when he gets home from work. He’s been so tired lately . . .”

“He pulls up the driveway after dark. We thought it might cheer him up to see the lights and decorations when he gets home,” Sandy finished. The girls wore clean clothing and their hair had been combed. They looked better than they had in the past; but still—I felt a lump form in my throat.

Joe Nakasone had been working double shifts at a construction site in Hana, an improvement over his long drive to Kahului for work last year. Their aunt Lani, who worked at the hotel, also lived with them and helped out, but Maui was an expensive place to raise a family. The girls were Ohia’s latchkey kids, with neighbors like me keeping an eye out for them when we could.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said, kneeling to open one of the boxes. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

For the next hour, we sorted through tangled lights, slightly worse for wear garlands, and ornaments that had clearly seen better days. The girls’ two young cats “helped” by batting at the lights and pouncing on anything that moved.

“Sorry it’s not much,” Sandy said, a hint of embarrassment in her voice as she held up a faded plastic wreath whose ribbon had disintegrated. “We haven’t been able to afford new decorations in—ever.”

I squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, it’s not about how new or fancy the stuff is. It’s about the love you put into the decorating. And trust me, your dad is going to love this.”

As we worked, I noticed how the girls’ eyes lit up, talking about Christmases past and the traditions their mom had started. It was bittersweet, but I was glad to see them smiling.

We were just finishing up, with Sandy precariously balanced on a stepladder to hang lights along the porch roof, when I noticed a group of women in vibrant red hats making their way up the street, singing carols. The Red Hat Society, out for a little chorus walk—and one of my favorite ladies, Josie, was carrying an ukulele and providing a strong musical backup.

“Well, would you look at this!” Edith Pepperwhite, short and gnomelike in her witch-style red topper, called out to us. “Seems Christmas has come to Plumeria Street!”

The group approached, and I recognized more familiar faces: Dot who worked at the Hana library, and Beatrice, a retired schoolteacher, as well as Rita and Maile.

Maile ran up onto the porch and greeted her friends and the kittens. The girls had all bonded last year when Maile appeared at the Hana Hotel after her ordeal. “I knew you’d be putting up something!”

“We brought dinner!” Rita exclaimed, holding up a big bag of takeout. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved,” Sandy said. “Thanks, Aunty Rita.” The slender girl hugged Rita’s waist.

Beatrice’s eyes softened as she took in the scene. “Girls, this looks wonderful. Your mother would be so proud.”

Sandy and Windy exchanged a glance, a mix of sadness and pride in their eyes. “We still miss her,” Windy said.

“You know,” Dot said, reaching into her purse, “I think I have just the thing to add to your display.” She pulled out a small, handmade angel ornament fashioned of wire and beads. “Your mom helped make these one year at the library. This one that she made was left. I think she’d want you to have it.”

Windy took the ornament, her eyes bright. “Thanks, Aunty Dot.”

“It’s beautiful. Mom was so good at making things.” Sandy took the ornament from her sister and hung it from the center of the battered wreath, then hung that on their front door, a finishing touch.

“It looks great!” Dot exclaimed. “Like it was meant to be there.”

“And now, how about a song? Let’s start with Jingle Bells. Everyone knows that one,” Josie said. A statuesque Hawaiian woman, she was striking with her hair braided in a crown around her head and a wreath of twinkling battery-operated lights atop it. She struck a chord and led us strongly in a Hawaiian-style rendition.

I walked around the porch, picking up rubbish and collecting and stacking the ornament boxes. I took them to the garage and tidied everything up, letting the girls enjoy singing in the impromptu concert.

As we were going into the third song and darkness had fallen, Joe Nakasone drove his truck up the driveway—and I got to witness his grin at the sight of the decorations, the excitement of the girls, and the family’s hugs with the Red Hat ladies.

Yeah, it was the best of Hawaii’s holiday spirit, and I loved being the middle of it all.

I bid everyone goodbye as we all walked back down the driveway. “I’m on a case,” I told them. “Gotta go. Day’s a-wasting.”

“You mean the day’s long gone, And yeah, we heard,” Edith frowned. “Someone stole the Queen’s Ornament. Who would do a thing like that?”

“Well, I have a lead I need to follow up on,” I said. “And even though it’s after dark, we’re running out of time left until the event. Tomorrow’s Monday and I have to work the post office. So following up with this is now, or much later.”

“I bet you’re going to see Malcolm Namolo,” Josie said. She strummed a dramatic chord on her ukulele. “And I’m telling you, don’t go alone.”