CAPITOL MURDER

A THESIS SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE DIVISION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI‘I AT MĀNOA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF

MASTER OF ARTS

IN

ENGLISH

DECEMBER 2012

By

Sara M. K. Young

Thesis Committee:

Rodney Morales, Chairperson Cynthia Franklin Gary Pak ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank the following people for their assistance with my thesis: Kai

Lau, for providing his knowledge of information technology systems; Gary Pak and

Cynthia Franklin, for their instruction and participation; Instructor Shawna Yang Ryan and my ENG 613C Fiction Workshop classmates for Spring and Fall 2012, for their commentary and feedback on my workshop drafts; Rodney Morales, for his literary guidance, mentorship, and overall advice; and Marcus Hayden, for his continuous encouragement and support.

i TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... i PROLOGUE ...... 1 CHAPTER 1 ...... 6 CHAPTER 2 ...... 27 CHAPTER 3 ...... 52 CHAPTER 4 ...... 75 CHAPTER 5 ...... 88 CHAPTER 6 ...... 105 CHAPTER 7 ...... 136 CHAPTER 8 ...... 144 CHAPTER 9 ...... 161 CHAPTER 10 ...... 188 CHAPTER 11 ...... 216

ii PROLOGUE MARCH 2012 THURSDAY

As he speeds towards Spitting Caves in the early morning darkness, Wesley

Kainoa Grant wonders if his wife Christine heard the message chime. Did she see him check his cell phone on top of their dresser? He can’t believe that he forgot to silence his

phone before he went to bed, as he usually did. He had hoped the message would be

from Shane; maybe that haole friend of hers told Shane to call him. Instead the message

was from someone else. The person he didn’t want to hear from. He replied anyway.

The annoyance from the message still lingers in him as he grips the steering wheel and

pushes on the gas pedal. The luxury homes of his neighborhood blur past.

It’s five in the morning. Prior to the message, he had been in his office, unable to

sleep. The office is the former nursery, as around Thanksgiving, his daughter Wendy announced that she was sharing a room with her older brother Wesley Jr. The walls of the office are still painted a soft pistachio green. Baby jungle animal cartoon decals cover the walls. A beady-eyed tiger smiles from behind Kainoa’s easy chair, half of its face peeling from the wall. A few months back, Kainoa was in the process of removing the decals one-by-one. As he peeled off the tiger, Christine barged into the office and

snapped at him to stop messing with the animals, because she needed the nursery again.

That was how she told him that she was pregnant. Unlike the last two announcements,

there were no tears of joy, no hugs and kisses, no pregnancy tests waving in the air.

Kainoa had pressed the tiger back onto the wall, but after a week, the face flopped

forward again. The adhesive lost its strength.

1 Now, in his SUV, he thinks about the emails he sent before he left the house. He forgot his laptop at the office, so he answered emails on Christine’s computer. It’s an

election year, and campaigns are heating up. He sent an email to Senator Morris

Takahashi, promising look over Morris’ campaign materials. There’s no telling if his colleague will even be re-elected. So far a challenger to Morris’ incumbent seat hasn’t

been announced, but supposedly some hotshot real estate broker has been garnering some

possible-contender-buzz around the district. Kainoa hasn’t even thought of his own re-

election campaign yet. He knows that since he’s represented this district for so long, if

anyone ran against him, the person wouldn’t win.

Hours earlier, at a Kaimuki district fundraiser for Senator Mark Kiguchi, he had posed for pictures with other politicians, talked story with local business people, met with

constituents of influence from Mark’s district. During his usual meet-and-greet bullshit,

he flirted with the hot female lobbyists, many of who fawned over his handsome hapa

boy face and overlooked the gold wedding band on his finger. Kainoa’s nearing forty,

but he’s still good-looking, and he knows it. His stomach and chest are still defined, and

the graying hair around his temples only emphasizes the tight smooth skin of his face.

He knows that his popularity is in fact due to his handsomeness, coupled with his charm.

He knows this from the lobbyists who hit on him, from the tutus who take pictures with

him at neighborhood board meetings, from the Kaiser High School girls who scream

from school bus windows when he’s sign waving. His looks win him votes. His looks

win him elections.

In the car, he exhales loudly as he thinks about how, luckily, at the fundraiser he

had avoided another lobbyist, a round-assed Japanese girl whom he hooked up with a few

2 years ago, late at night in his office at the Capitol. He remembers being slouched in his

desk chair as she blew him, and he played with her tits as she moaned and groaned into his lap. After that night in his office, she had stalked him for a good six months, showing up at his office randomly, trying to corner him at his own fundraisers or district events.

To his relief, that girl hadn’t attended tonight’s event.

He thinks about how that lobbyist almost reminds him of Christine, who is snoring softly in their bed. When he had finished his work and returned to the bedroom,

he had looked at his wife’s beautiful face, at the small curve of her belly, at her nipples

through her white Save Hawai‘i Kai t-shirt. He had reached his fingers towards the

bottom hem of her shirt, tempted to lift the fabric and take one of her small breasts in his

mouth, a move that she used to love before. They hadn’t fucked in a while, especially

since Christine found out she was pregnant again. In the early days of their relationship,

they used to have sex all the time, but now Christine rarely gives into his attempts. In

fact, he can’t even remember when they had sex to conceive this new baby. Instead of

rousing his wife and pissing her off, he had dropped his hand. That was when he

received the message and rushed to the phone.

He sees a stop sign in the distance and is tempted to run the sign since the streets

are empty, but he knows better. He takes his foot off the gas and slows down to a stop.

He sits there for some time, staring at the luxury homes around him, before he drives off

again. As he heads towards Portlock Point, the homes are bigger and more lavish. He

thinks about his family sleeping in their house, his house, the house he bought. When

they first moved into the place last year, there were many nights that he would lie awake,

unable to sleep in the enormous four-bedroom house. He would often walk through the

3 home in the dark, in awe at the fact that he, alone, could finally purchase something like this for his family. For years, he had to listen to his parents gush about how his brother

Jeremy does well as a surgeon in Los Angeles, how Jeremy could afford a posh condo in

Beverly Hills. His father had told him that he didn’t want to keep putting up his youngest son, who was only a “goddamn full-time local politician,” and Christine in their mansion,

Kainoa’s childhood home, on the other side of Portlock. Now, thanks to his new business venture, Kainoa could afford a home of his own, could provide for his family on his own.

Now that he’s set, Christine can finally quit her job at the firm and take care of the kids.

His mother, may she rest in peace, stayed at home to take care of him and Jeremy while his father spent the day in his judge’s bench. Christine should do the same. It’s what a woman should do.

Children are a handful, and he knows it. He’d never admit it to Christine, but sometimes he prefers staying at the Capitol until late at night and coming home when the kids are in bed, when the house is finally quiet and calm. He thinks about how, on his way to the garage this morning, he had peeked into his kids’ room. He had watched

Wessie and Wendy sleep in their twin beds, each of them clutching a ragged stuffed animal in need of a good washing. For a moment, he wondered what his children would amount to when they got older. What would their future hold? He thought about himself at their age and wonders if his father, the Honorable Milton W. Grant, thought the same of him. He knew the answer to that, so he scoffed at the thought, chuckling bitterly.

Wessie stirred in his bed and Kainoa froze, braced himself for the crying or wailing that might happen next. Instead of waking up, the boy kicked the sheet off his legs and rolled over, oblivious to the fact that his father was watching him.

4 Now, as he drives towards Portlock Point, he passes China Walls, his favorite

surfing spot, and heads towards the beach access area that leads to Spitting Caves, a local

cliff jump-off point. He glances at the tall wooden construction walls that block the view

of the Naupaka Kahakai’s construction site, the same spot where he staged a protest for constituents. In a few minutes, he pulls up near Spitting Caves, which is located along

the former residential area that will be a part of the vacation rentals. He parks behind a car sitting along the curb. He waits and stares ahead, wondering if he should get out or drive away. He knows that he should. He made a deal. It’ll only take a few minutes, and then he can go back home and get into bed with his wife before he has to go to the office.

He has a full agenda today. The Legislature is in session. A district school group is visiting his office. He has a luncheon to attend with other politicians. It’ll be a busy day.

He kills the engine. He gets out of his vehicle and tenses as the slight chill from the ocean breeze cuts through his worn Punahou Swim Team tank top. He digs into the trunk of his car and pulls out a faded zippered hoodie. He glances at the sweater and remembers that it was a gift. He frowns, puts on the hoodie and zips it up.

As he walks to the other car, he thinks about his wife hearing the message. He thinks about how he has to be at the Capitol in a few hours. He thinks about why he’s there, wondering why agreed to meet at Spitting Caves in the first place. He thinks all of these things as he approaches the other car.

Yet, later, as he tumbles from the cliff at Spitting Caves, thirty feet towards the rocks and crashing waves below, his mind is clear. He doesn’t have a thought at all.

5 CHAPTER 1 TUESDAY

The ring from the reception area wakes Shane from her daily afternoon nap. The phone, which hardly receives calls these days, is barely audible over the whirring of the desktop fan blowing directly in her face. Her feet, which are in desperate need of a pedicure, are propped next to her dinged and beat-up laptop. A picked-at mini chicken- katsu-all-rice-no-mac-salad plate lunch rests on the other side of her computer. A half- empty cup of Diet Coke lingers in a condensation pool that threatens to spread into a mess of chicken-scratch scribbled legal pads and weeks-old copies of the Honolulu Star-

Advertiser.

After the fifth ring the phone goes quiet. She opens her eyes to look at the front of the loft to see if Jackson, her part-time unpaid intern, at least attempted to answer the damn phone. His desk is empty. Shane makes a mental note to fire Jackson, but she knows that she’ll probably rehire him anyway because he works for free. From the afternoon sun peeking through the venetian blinds covering the windows, she guesses it’s around two-thirty. In a few hours, she has to meet with a rich client at his office to discuss setting up a trust fund for his spoiled brat kids. She yawns and wonders if she’s still on California time. Ever since she landed at the airport last night, the jet lag is in full force. She closes her eyes and reclines further into the cracked black leather of her ancient desk chair, until someone knocks loudly on the glass of the office door.

“Fucking hell,” Shane grumbles as she sits up and feels around the dingy navy blue throw rug for her black leather pumps. She presses her hands on her faded black dress shirt and light gray jeans to quickly smooth the wrinkles, but gives up when the

6 knocking grows louder. Even though it’s March, the loft is sweltering—Jackson must

have turned off the air conditioning to save on the HECO bill again. The numbers in her

business account are nearing the red; the thought of it is enough to make her sweat.

The knocks keep coming. Shane cranks on the ancient air conditioning unit,

which groans to life and shoots a rush of icy air in her face. She finger-combs her

shoulder-length black hair before she unlocks and yanks open the door.

A man stands on the hallway stairs, holding a scratched-up BlackBerry in one hand and a suit jacket in the other. He’s mixed Asian, probably Japanese-Korean, just under six feet, and in his late thirties. His dark hair is cut close to his head; his freckled skin is slightly weathered from too many days without sunscreen. The sleeves of his pressed black dress shirt are rolled up midway up his arm. Perspiration dots his forehead.

He looks like the typical downtown Honolulu business type. He eyes Shane’s tall, thin body up and down before checking out her face.

Shane crosses her slim arms in front of her chest and glares at him. Men always look at her that way. It irritates her every damn time.

“Is Mr. Nohara out to lunch?” the man asks. His voice surprises Shane; based on his looks, she expects him to have the same local accent as her. Instead she can hear the katonk in his voice. He points at the “Be Right Back” sign neatly written on an electric blue Post-It that Jackson had taped onto the glass. “I called just now but nobody answered.”

“No, but it looks like my good-fo-nuthin’ intern is out to lunch,” Shane says, opening the door wider to let him into the space. “I’m Shane.”

7 The man’s eyes widen. “Oh, sorry, um, Miss Nohara,” he says as Shane closes the door behind him. He glances around the studio at the two-chair reception area, at

Jackson’s empty desk facing him, at the row of dusty filing cabinets along the far wall to the right, at the large bookshelf blocking part of the back of the loft. He follows Shane to her desk across the room. Their footsteps clunk on the wooden floor until they walk onto the throw rug. “They didn’t print your picture in the paper. I didn’t know that you were, um, well—”

“It happens,” Shane says, clearing off months of Hawaii Business Magazine,

Honolulu Magazine, and Pacific Business News from the old cream-colored leather sofa

across from her desk. She dumps the magazines onto a dusty glass coffee table littered

with empty Diet Coke cans. “Most people think I’m a guy. My old man loved that Alan

Ladd western from the Fifties. He was disappointed when my mom gave birth to a girl

instead of a boy.”

As Shane clears off the sofa, the man stares at the framed diploma from the

William S. Richardson School of Law hanging on the wall next to some of Shane’s old

Bulletin columns that Jackson also had framed. “Shane Kū ka‘awale Nohara,” he reads

aloud, as if he’s taking role. The pronunciation of her middle name with his mainland

accent sounds like nails on chalkboard. Shane focuses on the papers to keep from rolling

her eyes.

“So,” the man says, turning from the diploma, “you own your own practice?”

“Yep,” Shane replies a little too eagerly. She pauses at her slight desperation, but

clears her throat as if to start over. “So what can I help you with? Are you a client

referral from the Bar Association?”

8 “Russ Park,” he says, pulling a business card out of his dress shirt pocket and

handing it to Shane as he takes a seat.

Shane leans against the front of her desk and glances down at the card. Russell

Park. Detective. Private Investigations. “What’s this about?”

“You probably heard about the body that washed up at China Walls last week.

Some fisherman found it.”

“I haven’t been on island for the past few weeks. I didn’t read the paper while I

was away. Just got back late last night.”

“Really? I heard that you’re a political writer for the Advertiser. I thought you’d

be covering the Legislative Session.”

“Family emergency. And former political columnist for the Bulletin. Haven’t

covered the Legislature since I was laid off during the merger. I’m a lawyer now. What

does that body have to do with Session?”

“The body was identified a few days later. State Senator Kainoa Grant. Death

ruled as a surfing accident.”

Shane’s breath catches in her chest. She feels cold. Goosebumps prickle her

clammy skin. A sharp pain hits her chest, creeps into her throat, crawls into her stomach.

She rests her hand on the desk to keep herself from falling to the floor.

Body. Kainoa. Grant.

She last saw Kainoa years ago at a fundraiser for Speaker of the House,

Representative Walter Chou, who was up for re-election in the fall. As a columnist,

Shane attended political fundraisers to see which familiar faces would show up. Her

presence was not welcome, but nobody questioned her attendance as she pressed a hefty

9 donation check, which she could barely afford, into the hand of one of Chou’s volunteers.

Even though Kainoa was now in the Senate, he was still schmoozing, flashing his

handsome, practiced smile at everyone, stopping to talk to the guests and other

legislators. Shane sat on a table on the opposite side of the room, sipping her Diet Coke

and munching on shoyu poke as she took mental notes, occasionally looking over at

Kainoa. They had made eye contact once, as she was drinking her soda. She almost dropped the can when Kainoa’s hazel-green eyes lingered on her a few seconds too long.

“Miss Nohara?”

Shane’s eyes snap towards Park, whom she forgot was sitting on the couch in her office. She finally exhales, clears her throat. “Um, that’s very sad to hear,” she says, placing the business card on her desk. “In the middle of Session too. But I don’t get why you’re here to see me, Detective Park…”

“I’ve been asked by the senator’s family to look into the events leading up to his death. I’m starting with any known acquaintances. His iPhone was found in his car. The email function contained dozens of unsent email drafts addressed to you.”

Shane presses her lips together. Why in the hell would Kainoa be contacting her?

They hadn’t spoken to each other in years, especially after she started writing for the

Bulletin. “I don’t know why he would email me.”

“Didn’t you write about him in your articles?”

“I wrote about every legislator in my old column.”

“But you were a strong critic of his, weren’t you? I remember hearing a rumor that something you wrote almost cost him the previous election.”

10 Shane shrugs. She had heard that rumor before, but she knew that it was

generated by Kainoa’s former campaign manager, who was upset at one of Shane’s

columns about the senator. “I doubt that the power of my writing influenced his campaign results. Senator Grant and I had no communication whatsoever. What were the contents of the emails?”

“Nothing special. Most of them were blank.” Park scribbles something into a notepad that he pulls out from his pocket. What else does the guy carry in his pockets?

“So where were you two nights ago?”

“I was in California, visiting my sister and my father,” Shane replies. She searches around her messy desk until she finds the copy of her old United itinerary that

Jackson had printed for her. She hands the paper to Park. “I can have my intern Jackson confirm my trip. Also, if you need to contact my sister, then I can provide her name and phone number.”

Park glances at the itinerary and hands it back. “So you don’t have any idea why

Grant would’ve wanted to contact you?”

Shane shakes her head. “No, Detective. I really don’t know.”

“Well, thank you, Miss Nohara,” Park says, standing.

Shane walks him through the office just as Jackson bursts through the door, a

drink in his hand and a sandwich in a plastic bag dangling from the crook in his elbow.

“Oh-em-gee, Shane, we need to move outta here to one place wit one elevatah instead of

this fucking old ass building,” Jackson says, closing the door behind him. “I swear, no

fucking poli sci credit is worth climbing all those stairs.” He turns around, pulls his

headphones out of his ears and looks back and forth between Park and Shane.

11 “Detective Park, this is my intern Jackson Aquino,” Shane says, frowning and jerking a thumb towards Jackson. “He’s a student at HPU. Jackson, this is Detective

Russell Park.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jackson says as he slips the strap of his Gucci messenger bag over his head, careful not to touch his perfectly-groomed faux hawked hair.

Park nods and turns back towards Shane. “Do you have a card? In case I need to contact you for more questions.”

Shane grabs one of her business cards from Jackson’s neat and tidy desk. “I’m not sure how I can help, Detective,” she says, handing her card to Park. As soon as the detective nods his goodbye and closes the door behind him, she turns to glare at Jackson.

“Who was dat?” Jackson asks, turning on his computer and taking out his sandwich. “Braddah was intense.”

“He came to see me about Kainoa Grant,” Shane murmurs. “His body was found at China Walls.”

Jackson snaps his fingers. “Ooooh, dat’s right, I forgot to ask you about dat! I’ve been following that story since it broke. You nevah read the headlines?”

“Is that what you were doing when I was outta town?”

“No mo’ work fo’ me to do. Gotta read da paper or do homework.”

“I love free interns. So fucking glad I no need pay you since you just do homework and fuck around half the day.”

“Whatevaz, Shane. You’d be so bored in hea without me. Not like we get money to pay me anyway. You hardly get clients.”

12 Shane rolls her eyes, even though she knows that Jackson is right. “At least your brother did real work when he was my aide,” she says. She knows that Jackson hates it when she mentions his older brother Jerald, who had practically begged her to hire

Jackson as her college intern.

Jackson flashes stink eye at his boss and then unwraps his sandwich. “Anywayz,

I figgah you’d be all ovah dis Grant ting.”

“I didn’t read the paper while I was on the mainland.”

“I bet the Capitol stay ca-ray-zy right now,” Jackson says around a mouthful of turkey-on-wheat. “Press probably camping out dea as we speak, trying fo’ get infahmation.”

Shane walks to the window next to her desk and stares at her reflection in the glass. The press was probably all over the Capitol, digging around for any leads about

Kainoa’s death. The thought of navigating the mass of employed journalists and district constituents at the Capitol makes her palms sweat.

Kainoa drowned off of China Walls. Maybe it was a surfing accident; Kainoa always told her about how he loved to surf in the mornings before going into work, and even offered to take her with him some time. She thinks about the surfboard that he left in the far corner of his office, the salt that was sometimes dried on his neck, and how she would have to lick her fingertip and wipe the salt as he knotted his tie.

For some reason Kainoa tried to email her before he died. And it wasn’t just one email—it was multiple drafts of emails that he intended to send. Someone at the Capitol had a clue as to Kainoa’s whereabouts the day that he died, and could provide a reason as to why he wanted to contact her. She grabs her handbag and tosses in her expired press

13 pass. As she searches her desk for a pen, her hand hovers over Park’s business card. She

picks it up to toss it in the trash, but instead drops it into her purse as she heads out of her

office.

“Jacks, I’m going to the Capitol,” she says as she runs out the door. “Lock up

when you leave.”

Jackson waves her off without looking up from his computer. “Latahs.”

On the walk from the loft on the corner of Smith and Hotel, at the edge of

Chinatown, when she passes by “bum town,” where the crackheads and weirdos linger at the bus stop near the Fort Street Mall McDonald’s, Shane wishes that she had driven her car so she could avoid seeing people all together. The hot afternoon sun beats on her blouse, a thin line of sweat spreads along her hairline. The air in downtown Honolulu hangs in a voggy haze. During the weather report on the 10 o’clock news the night before, Guy Hagi said that the tradewinds wouldn’t be making their usual appearance.

Now her shirt clings to her back.

Tension spreads from Shane’s stomach and sticks to her limbs, spills out until it reaches the tips of her fingers and toes. She isn’t sure if the unease is triggered by Park’s visit or by the news about Kainoa. She is pissed with herself for not reading the paper and knowing about Kainoa’s death earlier, as Park probably saw her initial shock displayed all over her face. Her shock towards Kainoa’s death surprises her. She never imagined that she would hear that type of news so soon. Shane remembers when she

14 once thought that Kainoa was invincible and that nothing could ever happen to him. It

seems like a lifetime ago.

Detective Park showing up is just as random as Kainoa’s death. It’s the first time

that a private detective ever paid her a visit. She dealt with H.P.D. before, but usually the

cops were witnesses or experts on cases that she was assigned to contact when she

interned at firms during law school. In fact, she’d rather stay as far away from H.P.D. as

possible, since cops remind her too much of her father, the famous Baron Nohara, retired

from H.P.D.. Park is a PI though, hired by Kainoa’s family. Aside from the emails on

Kainoa’s phone, there must be another reason as to why Park came by to see her. At the

moment Shane can’t figure out what it is.

Shane approaches the congested bus stop outside the Longs Drugs at Executive

Center and immediately regrets not hauling ass to the other side of Hotel Street. Up a

few feet ahead stands a cop waiting for an annoyed pedestrian to cross in the middle of

the street so that he can slap someone with a $75 ticket for jaywalking. Now it’s too late

for Shane to go around, so she trudges ahead. The click-clack of her shoes on the

sidewalk is drowned out by the chattering of dozens of Hawai‘i Pacific University

students leaving class, and the grumblings of old folks who took the bus to fill their blood

pressure and cholesterol prescriptions at Longs. Shane passes a group of girls, probably

around nineteen years old, each of them dressed in jeans and slippers, and carrying an

HPU sweatshirt. It didn’t seem like so long ago that Shane was one of those students,

busting her ass to make Dean’s List at UH Mānoa to keep her scholarship while working

part time at the Zippy’s take-out counter, spilling chocolate milkshakes, saimin dashi, and

chili all over her uniform during her shifts. Her father hadn’t cared so much about the

15 Zippy’s food that she would bring home for him, and he would only eat it when he came home late from the station; in fact, when he managed to pay attention to her at all, he would yell at her about wasting so much time at work and not focusing on her scholarship. He often asked her why she was wasting her time majoring in liberal arts when she could be like Mattie, who studied architecture and was working as an architect in San Jose. During the summer before her senior year at UH, Shane remembered telling him that she was taking the LSAT and that she was applying for law school. Her father had stared back at her, a look of disbelief in his face, and hadn’t said anything, as usual.

When she decided that she wanted to abandon her law career to become a journalist, he didn’t hide his disappointment, and he had practically cheered when the paper laid her off. “Finally, you can do something wit yo’ life,” he had said. Now Shane is a former- journalist-and-current-lawyer with a few clients and a run down office in Chinatown.

What is there to be proud of?

She walks past Bishop Square and Ali‘i Place, and then crosses Hotel Street after she passes the District Court bus stop. Ahead of her, in the center of a manicured green lawn, stands the State Capitol. The reflecting pool around the building casts the sun’s glimmer on the eight coconut-tree-like columns that line each of the building’s four walls. The swampy stench of the brackish reflecting pool wafts from the water, the voggy heat emphasizing the rotting smell. Crowds of people are gathered along the outer perimeter of the building, surrounding the stairs that face the statue of Queen

Liliu‘okalani. As Shane hurries closer, she sees H.P.D. lining up along the sidewalk near

‘Iolani Palace. She walks up the wheelchair access ramp, reaches into her purse, and grabs her expired Star Bulletin press pass, which she slips around her neck.

16 The rotunda is packed, and reminds Shane of the chaos at the Capitol during the

HB 444 days, when groups of people came to support or protest the Civil Unions bill.

Some wear Kainoa’s campaign t-shirts and wipe tears from their eyes. Several prominent members from Hawaiian activist groups stand in front of their constituents and call out their praise of Kainoa’s strong support of Native Hawaiian rights. Shane wonders if these people knew that Kainoa purposely went by his middle name instead of his first name “Wesley.” She remembers when she had assumed that he was part-Hawaiian, like herself, and the surprise that she felt when he told her that he was simply haole-Japanese.

He once told Shane that “Kainoa” looked better on the ballot, and that voters were more inclined to vote for him based on his Hawaiian name. A large group carries painted poster board signs protesting the construction of a vacation rental development in

Portlock, which Kainoa strongly protested. As Shane nears the edge of the crowd, an

H.P.D. officer holds up his hand to block Shane’s path, but drops it once he glances at

Shane’s press pass on her chest.

It’s been years since she last walked around here, but the Capitol looks the same.

She remembers the cool air that sweeps from Bishop Street and through the rotunda, even on hot, stagnant days. Her sweat chills from the light breeze that was non-existent outside. As Shane makes her way across the rotunda, she notices that the chandeliers are lit in both the House and Senate Chambers. A joint afternoon Session by the House and

Senate is in order.

Two Senate Sergeant-at-Arms officers, each dressed in ill-fitting dark suits, block the closed Senate chamber door. She maneuvers around the crowd until she reaches the door to the House chamber. Once inside, she sees that the seating rows are completely

17 full. A man next to the doorway makes room for her to stand next to him. A few heads

turn around to look at her, but Shane doesn’t recognize anyone. Back when she was a

hotshot political columnist, her presence made regular writers sweat when she appeared

at hearings or fundraisers. She was the upcoming writer who threatened to take away

their jobs. She was the writer whose knowledge of the Capitol could sway votes. Her

stories were magnets for Letters to the Editor or comments on the Bulletin’s website.

Political fanatics would stop her on Hotel Street as she walked to the Capitol or would ask her questions as she pushed her shopping cart through the Pali Safeway. Now people in the audience don’t recognize her.

All of the representatives are present at their seats on the orange-carpeted

chamber floor. The squat troll-like image of Governor Neil Abercrombie is projected on the large screen at the front of the chamber, and he is in mid-speech about Kainoa’s death. Shane remembers that Kainoa provided a large contribution to Abercrombie’s election campaign in 2010, and Abercrombie coincidentally signed some of Kainoa’s bills into law when he became governor. “The passing of Senate President Kainoa Grant is an unfortunate and unexpected loss to the State of Hawai‘i,” says Abercrombie,

“Senator Grant was a passionate legislator whose mālama for his constituency and for

Hawai‘i Nei was so great. During Senator Grant’s short life, he managed to rise from his seat as the House representative for Hawai‘i Kai, to being elected as his district’s senator, and then to senate president. Although it is a difficult motion to elect someone to fill his vacancy, Senate Vice President Sheila Nakamoto will be appointed as Senate President for the remainder of this Legislative Session.”

18 Abercrombie starts his closing remarks, and Shane gears up, ready to bolt out the chamber door with the rest of the audience in order to make it upstairs unnoticed. She peeks out the windows and spots Park, sans suit jacket, walking around the mosaic in the center of the rotunda. She holds her breath, as if Park can hear her breathing from outside the chamber. She watches as the detective looks up at the sky through the open- air ceiling and then scans each floor before walking towards one of the makai elevators.

As soon as the doors of the elevator close, Shane pushes open the chamber door and hurries to the mauka elevator, rushing through the crowd of mourners.

Once inside the vacant elevator Shane pauses, unsure of her first stop. The

Executive Chambers on the fifth floor are useless; the Governor’s staff never cares about the happenings in the House and Senate. The Departmental offices on the fourth floor, where the senate president’s office is situated, and the Senate offices on the second floor are probably swarming with journalists covering the memorial session. She presses the third floor, the location of the House. Hopefully someone she knows can fill her in on any utterance of her name. It’s been a while since she created any sort of buzz in this place.

When the elevator door opens to the third floor, dozens of people should have been walking about, either standing at the railing overlooking the rotunda or making their way to various representatives’ offices. Instead, the hallways are a ghost town. Shane heads towards Representative Lois Wie’s office; it’s a familiar place, as Shane spent a considerable amount of time there and knows the office manager. When Shane reaches the office, the doorknob won’t budge. It’s locked.

19 Shane sighs and keeps walking, scanning the nameplates of the representatives as

she passes by. Some of the names are unfamiliar; they are probably freshman reps

elected since Shane started practing law. She considers dropping in on one of the offices

to see if the staff might pass on any information, but as she turns the corner in the hallway, a sharp voice, loud and recognizable and male, breaks through the silence.

“Is that Shane Nohara?”

Startled, Shane turns around and sees a man and two women walking towards her.

She realizes that it’s Perry Mukai, the office manager for Representative Laney Ishida;

Nina Kudo, the office manager for Representative Kyle Kawamoto; and Rianne

Watanabe-Reyes, one of the office managers for Kainoa. She hasn’t seen them in a few

years, and she forces a smile.

“Shaaaaaaaane!” Perry exclaims, wrapping his thin arms around Shane and giving

her honi. The scent of cigarette smoke wafts from his slender face. He’s dressed in an

un-tucked aloha shirt and dark slacks. “Girl, you look soooooo good! What you doing

here?”

“Yeah, Shane, what are you doing here?” Nina asks, raising an eyebrow. She’s

dressed in something short and tight that resembles a dress, and hot pink strappy heels

more suitable for a nightclub than for a nine-to-five at the Capitol.

Shane’s eyes narrow slightly at Nina. She shrugs. “Heard about Kainoa. Pretty

sad.”

“Aisus, I know,” Perry says with a nod. “Must be so weird for you to hear that

Kainoa’s dead. You guys used to be so close, yeah?”

20 Perry’s comment slaps Shane across the cheek. She doesn’t know what he means

by it being “weird” for her, but she maintains her poker face. “Yeah, I suppose. Just

thought that I’d stop by the Capitol and see the commotion.”

Rianne doesn’t greet Shane, but instead fidgets, shifting her weight on both feet, when Kainoa’s name is mentioned. Shane looks at the girl, who’s dressed in a pair of black slacks and a pink blouse. Her long straight black hair barely covers large hoop earrings. Thick bangs hang across her forehead. Years ago, Shane interviewed Rianne, who was a freshman at HPU, for an unpaid internship with Kainoa’s House office. She remembers that Kainoa hired Rianne as an intern because he wanted to include a blurb about his office’s “legislative internship program” in his district legislative newsletter.

“So is that why you’re wearing that?” Nina asks, rolling her eyes and pointing at

Shane’s chest. The sharp ends of her blunt bob haircut sway along her jawline.

Shane pulls her press pass from her neck and drops it into her bag. “Oh, I put it on to get through the crowd. I was afraid that H.P.D. wouldn’t let me in.”

“I’m surprised that you’re not gathering more shit about our bosses to write about in the paper,” Tiare says, looking up at Shane. Even with her five-inch-heels, she is still

below Shane’s eye level. “But wait, come to think about it, I haven’t read about you dissing Kawamoto in a while. Didn’t you get fired?”

“Nina!” Perry hisses, nudging his colleague’s side with his elbow.

Shane folds her arms in front of her chest. “I was laid off by the Bulletin, not fired. But if you must know, I’m practicing law now.”

Nina holds up her hands in mock-surprise. “So you’re some high makamaka lawyer now? Don’t make like we don’t remember what you wrote in the paper. Did you

21 forget that you were Kainoa’s committee clerk? Must’ve made you feel better to expose

whatever shit you dug up when you worked for him. Isn’t that right, Rianne?”

“Yes,” Rianne says, in a baby-soft voice that reminds Shane of screeching car

brakes.

Shane glares at Rianne and then at Nina, her chest heaving as she tries to calm her

breathing. She wants to clock the bitch in the face, but instead she digs fingers into her

biceps. “Please, you don’t even know—”

“You wouldn’t have even started here if Kainoa didn’t help you out,” Nina spits

out, her voice rising. She points a manicured finger in Shane’s face. “You used to be an

O.M. like us and then you thought you were some fucking writer who has the right to talk shit about our bosses. You know, if you shit talk them, then you’re shit talking us.”

Shane looks at Perry, who covers his mouth with his hand, and Rianne, who looks at Shane and then at the ground. “I was only trying to make a difference,” she says slowly, carefully choosing her words. “It was never my intention to—”

“Bullshit, Shane,” Nina says. “You know that if the legislators don’t get re- elected, then the O.M.s lose their jobs.”

“Not my prob—”

“How does it feel to fuck over your friends?”

The hair rises on Shane’s neck.

“Nina,” Perry murmurs, pulling on the woman’s arm, “come hang out my office before you go back to the fourth floor. You too, Rianne.” He looks back at Shane, his eyes wild. “So good to see you, Shane.”

22 “Fucking bitch,” Nina says loud enough for Shane to hear as they walk away. “At

least we don’t have to hear about her bullshit anymore.”

As Perry, Nina, and Rianne head down the hall, Shane stares at the coffee-colored

floor. It was only a handful of years ago that she would be walking with Perry and considered him to be her friend. She doesn’t know what they are to her now. Her biceps ache where she pressed her fingers to keep from clocking Nina; in a few days, she’ll

probably have finger-shaped bruises on her arms. She slowly trudges towards the

elevator and raises her hand to press the “Down” button.

“So you used to work at the Capitol?”

Shane cranes her head behind her. Park is at the end of the hall, walking towards

her direction. Her first instinct is to flee towards the stairs, but she knows better than to

run away from someone who may think she’s hiding something. She takes a deep breath

and slowly exhales. “Hi, Detective Park. I take it that you saw that lively discussion

with my former colleagues.”

“Miss Nohara,” Park says. “I didn’t see it, but I overheard. You didn’t mention to me that you used to work here.”

“You didn’t ask. And can we ditch the formalities? Just call me ‘Shane’.”

Park pauses and presses his lips into a line. “Well, okay, Shane,” he says, feeling her name around in his mouth as if he is saying it for the first time. “Funny that you felt the need to come over to the Capitol after I told you about Senator Grant’s death.”

“Thought I’d check the place out. What are you doing here, Detective?”

23 “I don’t need to share my whereabouts with you.”

“Right, and I don’t need to do the same.”

The elevator doors open and out walk Representative Carlton Hirano and

Representative Lois Wie, both dressed in business suits. Session just ended. Their eyes light up when they see Shane. They both say hello and smile.

“Hi, Carlton, Lois,” Shane greets, leaning forward to give them each a hug.

“Did you hear about Kainoa?” Lois asks, squeezing Shane’s arm. “You should stop by the office and see the staff if you have time.” She glances at Park briefly and gives a small smile.

Shane nods. “I might, but I should probably get going.” She watches as they both say goodbye and head towards Wie’s office.

“You didn’t introduce me,” Park says.

“Representative Hirano and Representative Wie? Did you really want to meet them?”

“No. Just joking. I hate politicians.”

Shane furrows her brow at Park. She was always somewhat good at reading folks and figuring them out right away, although a few had stumped her in the past. One of these people was Kainoa, and now this Park guy. The elevator doors open and a mass of constituents and Capitol staff glare at Shane and Park for standing right in front of the elevators.

“So would you like to fill me in on your previous work experience at the

Capitol?” Park asks over the crowd.

24 Shane follows him towards the balcony, which at the moment seems more private

than the halls of the Capitol. She leans against the wooden railing and looks down at the

floors below. Sunlight warms the top of her head. From her peripheral, she sees Park

studying her face. Her employment history is never a topic of conversation that she

enjoyed discussing with most people. In fact, even Jackson only knows bits and pieces

about Shane’s life at the Capitol, and that’s only because his brother Jerald used to work

for Shane. She doesn’t know why she feels obliged to continue talking to Park about any of this, but something about him seems a bit trustworthy. After a few breaths, she starts talking:

“First I applied for a legislative aide position at Rep. Kawamoto’s office. I had an interview with the office manager. Turns out that Kawamoto had already promised my job to a family friend, so as a consolation prize, he referred me to Kainoa, who was a representative at the time. Kainoa hired me as his committee clerk for session. At the end of Session, he ended up firing his office manager and offered me the job. Session staff jobs are always temporary, so it was either take the job or be unemployed again after four months of work. I was his O.M. for a year, but I left after he decided to run for

Senate in 2006.”

“When did you apply for the job with Rep. Kawamoto?”

“After I graduated from law school.”

“Why didn’t you get a job at a law firm like most law school graduates?

Shane chuckles and shakes her head. The legal path always seems so easy to

people who aren’t pursuing it. “It was hard for me to find a clerkship. I applied at every

judge’s office on Oahu, but the only people who were getting clerkships were the kids of

25 attorneys who were also family friends of the judges. I was promised a position at one of the firms that I interned at over the summer before I graduated, but the firm downsized so

that fell through. After six months of looking, I really needed a job. Session it was.”

“So that’s how you know the Legislature. I bet that came in handy when you

decided to write about it.”

“Sort of,” Shane murmurs. She straightens and turns towards Park to look at him

face-to-face. “Why do you care about this? Am I a person of interest?”

Park rests his forearms on the railing. His eyes stare at the offices across from them. “Not anymore. Guilty until proven innocent. Your alibi checked out. United confirmed your flights.” He glances at her. “Although I know that there’s more that you’re not telling me. Senator Grant tried to contact you repeatedly but he never did.

And I think you know the reason why he wanted to speak to you.”

“Well, Detective, obviously your guess is as good as mine.”

26 CHAPTER 2

Detective Park sits in his small rented office in downtown, typing some notes on

his laptop. He’s been there since six that morning, after his morning jog at Kakaako

Park. His desk, a Seventies relic that came with the office, is barren, aside from his

office phone, the file on the Grant case, and his computer. An empty coffee cup sits next

to a closed plate lunch container that, hours earlier, held chow fun, corned beef hash

patties, and spam musubi from Gulick Delicatessen.

It’s eight-thirty at night but the office suite is bustling with activity. From his

niche in the back of the suite, he can hear people chattering on the phone, keyboard keys

typing, files being moved to one of the conference rooms. Although he would hardly

admit it to anyone, it’s times like this, when he hears that hustle and bustle, that he misses

sitting at his desk in the Criminal Investigation Division squad room, rambling on about

cases with the other guys. He remembers one day, which was the same day that his

partner Patty had her accident, when some of them checked out a call about a missing

child in McCully, probably a runaway. Supposedly the kid walked out of her afternoon

math class at Washington Intermediate and didn’t come home that night. Before they left

for McCully, some of Park’s buddies told him about some asshole that beat the shit out of

his girlfriend in the kitchen of their apartment. He was wasted on Bud Lites, came in and

saw that she over-cooked his steak, and started to rail on her with the frying pan. Fucker

pulled the pan straight from the burner. Park remembers that his knuckles had started to ache, his fingers tensing and begging to be clenched into fists. But back then, all he

27 could do, all he knew that he should do, was shake his head. It’s been a while since he

had one of those calls, to his relief.

He stops typing and looks at the file on Senator Grant. Most of the information

was from the official accident report provided to him via Kevin Fong, his former

colleague at H.P.D.. Forensics report checked out, even with the rock samples from the jump off site called Spitting Caves. Grant’s car was found in Portlock, near the beach access entrance to the area. Grant’s wife said that sometimes her husband liked to jump

off the rocks at Spitting Caves before heading out to China Walls. Adrenaline junkie or

something.

Park thinks about when he met with the wife. She had called him a few days after

her husband’s death, and asked him to meet her at the Grants’ home, located in a Portlock neighborhood right off of Lunalilo Home Road. It was a spacious two-story house surrounded by a manicured yellow-hibiscus hedge and a black iron gated fence. As he entered the home, he eyed the sleek modern décor, the artwork on the walls, the marble flooring, and couldn’t believe that a full-time local politician could rake in that kind of cash. He had looked up some info on the wife and learned that Mrs. Grant (née Wong) was in her early thirties and was recently made partner at a downtown law firm. Maybe her lawyer salary covered most of their expenses, but she couldn’t make that much per

year to afford a swanky Portlock house.

In the living room, Christine Grant’s petite body was perched on a modern-

looking boxy chair, her legs curled up onto the seat, a wadded-up tissue in her neat hands.

She was dressed in white jeans and a gray sweater that looked as expensive as the furniture. Even though her almond-shaped eyes were blood-shot and puffy, the wife was

28 still gorgeous, with perfect skin, full lips, and high cheekbones. Total model type, almost in that Narcissus Pageant beauty queen way. Park had to force himself to look away to stop staring at her face. He couldn’t believe that someone like her would shack up with a local politician.

It was quiet for a few moments. Park was seated on a matching rectangular sofa adjacent to Mrs. Grant. On the low, dark wood coffee table rested a glass of water that she placed for him next to a manila folder. “First off, I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs.

Grant.”

“Thank you, Detective Park. Please call me ‘Christine.’”

“Are you packing to go somewhere?” he asked as he sipped his water. When he had followed her to the living room, they passed half-packed suitcases and a few duffle bags lying on the floor in the middle of the foyer.

Christine nodded, her eyes darting to the side and then back at him. “After the funeral, we’re staying with my mother’s, um, sister for a bit. Ever since Kainoa’s… accident, I can’t stand to be in this house.”

Park took a mental note of her hesitation before she mentioned her husband’s accident. “That’s a shame. Quite a set-up you have here.”

Christine chuckled softly. “Yes, well, we bought our house last year. I guess there are already too many memories.” She winced slightly and looked outside a window. “Everything is still fresh.”

Park nodded and shifted his weight in his seat. He could hear the chatter of children came from somewhere in the house. “Are your kids home?”

29 “Both of them. Wessie is going back to preschool tomorrow, and my mother usually watches Wendy during the day. My firm let me take a week off so that I can prepare for the funeral.” She paused, as if she realized that she was divulging too much.

“I don’t really know how to do this, Detective Park. Like where do I start? I’ve never met with a private investigator, aside from legal matters at my firm.”

“Well, Christine, you can start with why you called me here.”

Christine sighed and pushed the folder towards Park. “The other day, I checked my husband’s phone so that I could tend to any unfinished business of his. I was looking through his email account and saw these emails. I printed them from his phone, so that you can look at them.”

Park picked up the folder and looked through the pages. The emails were blank.

He scanned the addressee line and noticed that each email was addressed to a Shane

Nohara. He closed the file and then asked what Christine wished for him to do.

“I don’t know why my husband would want to contact Shane, but the most recent email was dated soon before his, uh, death,” Christine said coolly as she picked off a piece of unseen lint from her sweater. “If you could look into whatever Shane had to do with my husband it would be appreciated. It could have been business, but I don’t think

Shane and my husband kept in touch recently.”

“I’ll look into it,” Park had said, closing the file. He pulls out a pen and a small notepad he always kept in his pocket. “Anything I need to know about your husband?”

Christine bites her lip in thought. “Well, he was the Senate President and up for re-election this year. When he was a senator, he used to sit on the Water, Land and

30 Housing Committee and the Ways and Means Committee. He didn’t sit on any committees before his…”

Park held up his hand slightly. “Christine, we don’t need to continue this if it’s

too hard for you.”

“It’s just, well, with his accident,” Christine said. “I’m not sure if I should be

telling you this, but I have this hunch.” She paused, pushed a strand of hair behind her

ear. “I have this gut feeling that Kainoa’s drowning was more than an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

Christine sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just a hunch, really. I know that Kainoa

wouldn’t have missed the fall from the cliff into the water. It’s not likely. He jumped

those cliffs often. It doesn’t make sense.”

Park wrote down her comments. “Did you tell H.P.D.?”

Christine shook her head. “No, I mean, it was just a hunch. I just feel like maybe

there was something else to this. There were no witnesses though. And it was dark, so

he probably couldn’t see well when he jumped.” She pauses briefly. “I’m not

insinuating that somebody hurt my husband. It’s just that, well, maybe—nevermind. I

don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Park said. “Any other business he was involved in?”

“Kainoa ran a non-profit here, but wasn’t very active with it lately. I think he left

most of the decisions to my brother. They formed it together.”

“I see. How did Shane and your husband know each other?”

“Work. Shane used to work for Kainoa. It was a while ago.”

31 Before he left, he provided his rate, which was on the hefty side, to Christine, which she agreed to without batting an eyelash. From the look of the home, Park knew that payment wouldn’t be an issue.

As Christine excused herself to get her checkbook, Park looked around the living room. There were pictures of the kids and family portraits on the walls, but no pictures of the Grants themselves. He stood, file folder in hand, and walked towards a studio portrait on the wall. It was a picture of the senator and Christine and their two children, each of them wearing white t-shirts and jeans, sitting on the sand at Sherwoods beach in

Waimanalo. They looked like the picture perfect family—good-looking parents with good-looking children. Park shook his head as he thought of the drowning. Unfortunate.

Christine returned to the room and handed Park a check. “Thank you, Detective

Park,” she had said as she walked him to the front door. “Please contact me when you find anything.”

Now the file containing Grant’s emails rests on the corner his desk. He picks it up and flips through the pages. He thinks about Shane. He’s not quite sure why, but he knows that Shane has no clue that Grant wanted to contact her. He remembers her standing in the corridor at the Capitol that afternoon, after getting railed at by her former colleague. She just stood there, face blank, mouth closed. When Park was younger, he always thought that the loud ones, like that short chick, were the ones to be afraid of, because they’re loud and like to fight and get crazy. But after a while, he realized that the quiet ones, the ones who lack emotion, were the women to worry about. Those women are unreadable, for the most part. Not knowing what move they were going to make, not knowing what they were thinking—that made them scary.

32 He thinks about Shane’s involvement with Grant, and the wife’s issue with the

emails. Obviously something more was happening beyond the boss-employee

relationship, or else she wouldn’t have been at the Capitol that afternoon. He didn’t buy

that excuse about wanting to see the commotion too. He had seen the way she seemed

disoriented when he told her about Grant’s death. There was something going on, and it

was way more than Shane divulged.

There’s a knock on the door and he looks up at James Tsuji, the managing partner

of the accounting firm that rents the entire office suite. “Eh Russ,” he says, briefcase in

hand, as he sits down in one of Park’s guest chairs, “whatchu doing? I thought you was

going home already.”

“Working,” Park replies. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Reading up on some stuff for a client,” James says, running a hand through his grayish hair. “Gonna be pulling long nights until Tax Day. I wanted to stop by and ask

how the office is working out.”

Park shrugs. “It’s fine. Thanks for letting me use it.”

James nods. “Sure, sure. Anyting for my cousin. I hope you don’t mind we

nevah put a sign on the front of the reception desk. I figured that you have your name on

the building directory anyway.”

“Sure,” Park says, leaning back in his chair. A few months back, at a family

reunion, James had asked Park to keep an eye on his second wife Pam, who was possibly

fooling around on him. Since James didn’t want his cousin’s payment on his bank

statements, he instead offered the use of an empty office in his office’s suite for few

months rent-free. Initially they made arrangements to hang up a small paper “Russell

33 Park, Private Investigations” sign at the reception desk, but James had changed his mind

when he realized that his office would then be associating with a private detective. Park

cracks his knuckles. “I like the office space. Your staff has been helpful with showing

me around the place.”

“Good. My office manager was shocked that you was my cousin. I guess ‘cause

you katonk.”

Park laughs, but the word makes him grit his teeth. He learned what “katonk”

meant when he was in the fourth grade, while he and his older brother Anthony and younger sister Caitlin spent a summer with Grandma Park at her house in Kaimuki, right off of Harding Avenue. During a pick-up basketball game at the park with some of the neighborhood kids, one of them asked why he, Tony, and Catie spoke funny. At first he was surprised. He thought he spoke like them, except they often used words that he initially didn’t understand, like “pau” or “bumbai” or “fakah.” One of the kids, a rotund

Japanese boy who probably had a future as a sumo wrestler, said that the Parks spoke funny because they was “katonk,” which the kids sing-songily called them for the rest of the day. That night at dinner, Caitlin, all smiles, announced their new nickname to

Grandma. Grandma Park had slammed down her fork, which was entangled in spaghetti noodles and meat sauce. He remembers how Grandma firmly said that the word is the sound that the hollow, brainless heads of mainland Asians made when hit by local

Japanese, and that Catie, Russy, and Tony were not allowed to call each other that ever again. He remembers how Caitlin stuck out her bottom lip as she stared at her plate of spaghetti and how Anthony’s hand gripped his fork so tight that Russ thought it would bend in half. He remembers the sound of the sumo kid’s head hitting the pavement of the

34 basketball court the next day, after Anthony clocked him for calling him and his siblings that word. Katonk.

James gets to his feet. “Well, I gotta get home to Pam and the boys. I probably missed dinner but at least I’ll be home in time to tuck them into bed.”

Park notices James’ eyes go soft. It’s the same look that James had when he came up to Park, beer in hand, and asked him to find information about Pam. He requested that

Pam be followed around for a few weeks and even provided his wife’s schedule, which consisted of driving the kids to school; shopping and lunching with her other young, rich,

stay-at-home-trophy-wife friends; cooking for the family. His findings were that Pam was not cheating on her husband. Park imagines Pam right now, washing the dishes in the kitchen of the Tsuji’s house in Kaimuki, killing time before filling the bathtub with

water for the kids’ bath, completely unaware that her husband had her followed. James’

paranoia is somewhat understandable, since his first wife cheated on him repeatedly

throughout their marriage and left their son with him, but Pam is a good wife and loves

her husband. Park supposes that a pang of guilt should hit him, since Pam is technically,

by law, his family, but it doesn’t. Sometimes business is business.

After James leaves, Park looks at the computer screen. He looks at his notes

about Shane Nohara and saves the file. He thinks about Shane, but he grits his teeth and

forces her out of his mind.

Instead, he gets to his feet and grabs his suit jacket, ready to go home to his

apartment in McCully. Just as he powers down his computer and takes a few steps towards the door, his desk phone rings. At first he starts to walk away, but he glances at the caller ID screen. He rushes to his desk to answer the call.

35

It’s a slow night in Chinatown. Shops and offices are closed, but restaurants and bars remain open. There’s no yelling in the streets, no fights to break up. Coworkers,

filled with pau hana cocktails and beer, lightly stumble towards downtown to pick up

their cars from their office buildings. The groaning of a bus drowns out the noise on

Hotel Street. Someone’s on a smoke break outside on Smith, and the smell of the cigarette floats through the window above Shane’s bed. The fan on Shane’s desk blows softly, gently rustling papers in front of it. Jackson is gone for the day; he left when

Shane was out.

Shane, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, lies on the right side of her bed, which is hidden by the bookshelf dividing the office from her bed corner. Along the wall on the left side of her bed is a clothing rack, her makeshift closet. Crumpled dirty clothes are piled inside the laundry basket that sits atop the trunk at the foot of her bed. She stares at

imagined constellations on the dark ceiling, connects the dots on the off-white panels.

Her stomach gurgles, but there’s no real food in her mini fridge. She could call in an

order for take-out chicken phờ at the shop on the corner, or walk over to Little Village for

some beef chow fun and pork chops. Instead, she stretches out on her bed and she thinks

about her visit to the Capitol.

It wasn’t as productive as she had hoped, especially with Detective Park making an appearance. After dealing with Nina and then conducting her semi-confessional with

Park, whom she just met, Shane was in no mood gather information about Kainoa’s last days. All she wanted to do was walk her ass home, reschedule her meeting with her

36 client, and crawl into bed. The detective had offered her a ride home, maybe out of guilt

from cornering her in the hallway, but she declined, saying that the walk would be good for her. Before they parted ways in the rotunda, he told her to give him a call sometime.

When she asked him what for, he answered, “In case you need something.” Shane just

rolled her eyes.

She flips onto her side and buries her face into her pillow. She has a habit of

lying on one side of the mattress, as if she’s sharing the bed. It’s been years since another

person slept in her bed. The last person wouldn’t always stay the night. She thinks about

him and her eyes ache. She closes her lids, wondering if tears will fall down her cheeks, but her eyes stay dry.

She abruptly sits up and then gets to her feet. The wooden floor creaks as she

walks towards the kitchenette. She flips a light switch and squints for a few seconds as

her eyes adjust to the brightness. In a cabinet above the sink, she first reaches for a

package of miso-flavored instant ramen, but instead grabs a half-empty bottle of whiskey

and pours herself a hefty glass. She sips slowly as she plops down at her desk and turns

on her laptop.

After a quick online search, she pulls up articles covering Kainoa’s death. The

top half of the Star-Advertiser’s homepage is dedicated to Kainoa’s life; his official

Legislature portrait fills a chunk of the page, along side the headline “Senator Kainoa

Grant, 1975-2012.” She stares at the dimples on his cheeks, his dark hair prematurely

graying at the temples, the curve of his lips in his smile. She clicks a link to a short

biography of Kainoa, even though most of the information she already knows:

37 Wesley Kainoa Grant, a lifelong resident of Hawai‘i Kai, graduated from

Punahou Schools and the University of Southern California with a B.A. in

Political Science. Upon returning to Hawai‘i after graduating from college,

Grant worked as a researcher for the Legislative Reference Bureau at the State

Capitol. In 2003 at the age of twenty-eight, Grant was surprisingly elected to the

Hawai‘i State House of Representatives as the new Democratic representative for

Hawai‘i Kai, a seat he held for the next four years. In 2006 Grant defeated long- time incumbent Republican senator Fred Jones in the race for State Senate.

Following his re-election to the Senate, Grant was voted by his colleagues as

Senate President in 2010.

Senator Grant was a strong advocate for environmental issues in the State of

Hawai‘i. He introduced and supported legislation to improve the cleanliness of beaches around the island and to create school programs to educate children on the importance of protecting Hawai‘i’s marine life. Senator Grant was a co- founder of Mālama Kai, a non-profit environmental group dedicated to saving

Hawai‘i’s oceans, and of Save Hawai‘i Kai, an organization that focuses on supporting the Hawai‘i Kai community. Senator Grant was very vocal about his strong opposition to a recent vacation development that broke ground in Portlock earlier this year.

38 Grant is survived by his father, the Honorable Milton W. Grant, retired judge for

the District Court, his brother Jeremy, his wife Christine, and two children.

Grant is pre-deceased by his mother Elizabeth (née Inouye),

Next to the article is a picture of Kainoa, Christine, their four-year-old son

Wesley Jr. and two-year-old daughter Wendy at Kainoa’s holiday district dinner this past

December. Shane looks at the picture of Christine, whose gorgeous face is all smiles underneath a red-and-silver Christmas garland “haku lei.” She quickly clicks another link. The picture is instantly replaced with a recent article about containing the details of the events leading up to the discovery of Kainoa’s body at China Walls.

According to the article, the night before his death, Senator Grant was at a campaign fundraiser for fellow senator Mark Kiguchi at Hee Hing Restaurant in

Kaimuki. After the event wrapped at eight o’clock, he was seen leaving in his Lexus with senators Les Shiira and Arjay Ramos. Both Senators Shiira and Ramos confirmed

Senator Grant dropping them off at the Capitol’s parking garage. According to their statements, the senator was in good spirits. At around eight-twenty, Senator Grant called his wife Christine to inform her that he was on his way home. Mrs. Grant, an attorney with Shintani, Reyes, and Leong, received a text message from him at eight-forty, confirming that he picked up a refill of Mrs. Grant’s pre-natal vitamins from Longs

Hawai‘i Kai. Mrs. Grant then went to bed around nine o’clock. It was the last time that

Mrs. Grant heard from her husband.

Shane pauses mid-sip. She didn’t know that Christine was expecting again. She thinks about when she first met the woman, who at the time was Christine Wong,

39 Kainoa’s girlfriend. Shane had been Kainoa’s office manager for over a year when he

suddenly brought Christine to the office one afternoon. She remembers the shock of

seeing Christine’s stunning high cheekbones and almond eyes, her black hair curled into

soft waves. Christine, dressed in a slim blazer and slacks, was meeting Kainoa for a late

lunch after wrapping a deposition downtown. That day Shane was feeling sick and wore

faded jeans and no make-up to the office; she immediately felt small compared to

Christine, even though Shane was a forehead taller than her. When she first started working at the office, Shane had heard about Christine briefly from Kainoa, but he soon told Shane that he had ended that relationship. Apparently that moment signified that they were back on.

Shane takes a gulp of whiskey and swallows fast. It hurts on the way down.

The article continues:

The next morning, Mrs. Grant and found the prescription on the kitchen counter,

but her husband nowhere in the house. Neither Mrs. Grant nor her mother Susan,

who lives with the Grants, heard Senator Grant enter the house the night before.

Mrs. Grant assumed that her husband came home after she was asleep and left

early to surf. Later that morning, three fishermen at China Walls saw a body

floating in the water. The body was later identified as Senator Grant. At the

moment, the Honolulu Police Department has no leads in the case, and right now

it is being ruled as an accidental drowning.

Shane leans back in her chair and props her feet onto her desk. Both Ramos’ and

Shiira’s alibis checked out, as Kainoa dropping them off at their cars had been recorded on the parking garage’s surveillance video. The senators also needed permission from

40 the DAGS security guard to raise the gates for the parking garage’s entrance and exit

after seven o’clock in the evening, so there was a record of their arrival and departure.

She runs through the timeline in her head. Kainoa’s early morning surfing used to be a routine for him. Something seems odd; Kainoa was an excellent swimmer. Accidental

drowning doesn’t add up.

The text message to Christine makes her think about Kainoa’s emails. They had

no contact in years. Why would he email Shane in the first place? She sits up quickly

and grabs her phone from her desk, then dials the number for the Senate’s IT office.

After a few rings, someone picks up. “Tech Support, Peter speaking.”

“Is Jenna Shigetani there by any chance? Tell her Shane’s calling.”

“Yep. Hold on a sec.”

After a few moments on hold, someone picks up the line. “Shane! Hoooowzit gooooing?”

Shane smiles when she hears her friend’s chill, San Diego-SoCal accent. “Hey

Jenna. Same shit. How are you?”

“Good, good. Mason said he had fun when we met you for beers at Murphy’s a few weeks ago. We don’t venture out unless his mom can watch the twins.”

“Cool, tell Mason that I had fun too.”

“By the way, girl, I heard that you were at the Capitol today.”

“Yeah, I wanted to check out the commotion over Kainoa,” Shane says, balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear as she navigates her mouse. “I got into it with

Nina Kudo, and Rianne Watanabe-Reyes jumped in a bit. Pretty sure that everyone in the

Capitol heard Nina screaming at me.”

41 “Nina screaming—how typical. Rianne chimed in? I thought she’s scared of you.”

“Not anymore, I guess.”

“Whatever, Rianne’s crazy. You should hear the things we say about her in the

Senate.”

Shane lets out a chuckle. Good ol’ Jenna. “Yeah, she is. Well, I still can’t believe what happened to Kainoa.”

“Same here. This place was, like, crawling with reporters when Abercrombie gave his address. It’s died down though; thank gawd, since I’m here until nine. Night shift. You know how Mase hates when I work late, but I think it’s mostly that he doesn’t want to watch Makana and Mahealani by himself.”

“Are you still biking home from the Capitol?”

“Of course.”

“But you work so late sometimes. Can’t you just pay for parking and drive to work like everyone else?”

“No way, I need the exercise. Trying to lose the last pounds of baby weight.

Also, I’m reducing my carbon footprint. Anyway, what’s up?”

“I have a question, but this has to be kept between us.”

“Um, okay…?”

“Can you log into Kainoa’s Capitol email account for me?”

Jenna goes quiet, clears her throat. “Let me call you back on my cell. I have to go upstairs. We don’t get reception in the basement.” She hangs up.

42 After some time, Shane’s phone rings. Jenna’s breathing hard, as if she sprinted

up the fire escape stairs to the rotunda. “Dude, Shane, you can’t ask me that kinda shit at

work. The Capitol’s phone lines are probably tapped. Public access and shit.”

Shane covers her eyes with her hand. “Dammit, sorry, didn’t think about that.”

“Anyway, I don’t have access to the actual email accounts. The senators change their passwords frequently, remember?”

Rookie mistake. “That’s right. I forgot. It’s been a couple years.”

Jenna sighs. “Why do you want access to Kainoa’s email anyway?”

“No reason.”

“Really?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Girl, you better watch out,” Jenna says, her voice hushing to a whisper. “Don’t go digging into places where you’re not welcome. You know your reputation around here. If word gets out that you’re trying to access Kainoa’s email, you’re toast.”

“Well, the only person who knows is you, Jenna.”

“You know I won’t snitch on you, Shane! I always had your back, girl, especially when you were at the paper. Nobody here knows that we talk about work stuff. Anyway,

I should get back to the office. I just ran outta there and didn’t tell Peter where I was going. Dude is probably freaking out.”

Shane thanks Jenna and promises to take her out for a beer soon. She hangs up and finishes her drink. Another dead end. She knows that she could probably hassle

Jenna into hacking into Kainoa’s account, but it’s not worth getting her friend into trouble. She stands too fast and grabs her handbag from the couch. Now her head is

43 spinning, but she digs around her bag until she finds Park’s business card. She dials the number but stares at the phone screen for some time, her thumb hovering over the “Call” button. She’s unsure of whether she could be penalized for inquiring, but she figures what the hell. She takes a deep breath before pressing the button.

After a few rings, someone picks up. “Russ Park.”

“Detective, it’s Shane Nohara.”

Park sighs loudly into the receiver. “Yes?”

“I was thinking about those emails Kainoa tried to send me. By any chance, can you let me know the contents? I remember you said most of them were blank, but I’m curious about the ones that weren’t.”

“So you want me to let you read them?”

“Of course.”

“Why should I do that?”

Shane walks absent-mindedly across the loft. “I think there’s something else to all of this. I’m sure that it was an accidental drowning, but something doesn’t seem to fit.”

When Park doesn’t respond, Shane continues. “There must be a reason as to why

Kainoa wanted to get in touch with me, but I have no idea why he would want to talk to me…of all people. You heard those two in the hallway—apparently I’m not considered to have been very loyal to my boss after I quit. And who knows, maybe I could understand if I recognize the subject matter in the emails.”

Park waits a few beats and then clears his throat. “Fine. When can you meet at the Zippy’s on Vineyard?”

44 “Um…ten minutes?”

“Good.”

Before Shane can reply, Park hangs up.

Shane sits across from Park in a booth at Zippy’s, watching as the detective grinds into a large bowl of chili and rice. She sips a soda and nibbles a grilled cheese sandwich.

They’re sitting in a booth in the center of the empty restaurant. She looks around at the tiled floor and the stained glass lamps over the bar, and realizes that the décor of the restaurant has been the same ever since she was a kid. As she rushed to meet Park, she swapped her sweats for jeans and had only grabbed her keys, her phone, and her wallet.

She tries to stifle a yawn, probably from both the whiskey and her adjusting back from

California time. “So is there any reason why we’re meeting here?” she asks, picking up her sandwich.

Park wipes his mouth with his napkin. He’s still in the dress shirt and slacks.

“What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t we be at your office or something?”

“It’s dinner time. I wanted chili.”

“Zippy’s chili?”

“Their chili is good.”

“I think it’s overrated.”

“Quite a statement from someone who eats like a fifth grader.”

45 Shane looks down at her grilled cheese and takes a large bite. As she chews, she

wonders when her meeting with Park turned into a dinner date. A file folder rests next to

Park’s food on the laminate table, and Shane’s been occasionally glancing at it since she

sat in the booth.

Park watches Shane’s eyes look at the file, and then pushes the folder towards her

plate. “I printed the emails so that they’ll be easier for you to read.”

Shane opens the file and looks at the papers arranged in chronological order.

Most of the pages are indeed blank drafts without a subject. Shane initially flips through the pages and then presses her lips together to hide a smile. Kainoa had a bad habit of creating a new draft instead of editing an existing one, and never deleted old email drafts.

It always drove her nuts when she had to manage his House email account as his office manager. She doesn’t know why this is amusing to her, but she has to keep from laughing at the table. She sees an email dated in February, with no subject typed in the

subject line. In the body of the email is written, “Realized that I don’t have your number

anymore. We need to talk.” Another email, dated the day before Kainoa died, says,

“Need to talk about c.” Shane bites her lip and re-reads the email.

“Are you stumped about the email about ‘C’?” Park asks.

Shane compiles a mental list. Capitol? Caucus? Christine? The picture of

Christine on the website pops into Shane’s mind. Maybe Kainoa was referring to his

wife. It doesn’t make sense for Shane to know anything about her. From what she

observed, the Grants’ marriage was solid. “It could be something political, like the

Senate majority caucus,” she says. “Maybe he’s referring to Christine, but why I would

need to hear about her?”

46 “Did you have any gripe with the wife?”

“No. I’ve met her a few times when I worked for Kainoa. She’s nice, friendly.”

She watches Park quietly scrape the bottom of his bowl with his spoon. “Does Christine have anything to do with this?”

Park eats the remaining grains of chili-covered rice and places the spoon into the empty bowl. “Maybe, although she’s the one who called me. She was distraught and said that she didn’t want to stay in the house, so she, the mom, and the kids are temporarily staying with a family member.”

“So…did you find out what happened to Kainoa?”

Park nods. “A former colleague of mine at H.P.D. showed me the accident report.”

“I didn’t know you were H.P.D.,” Shane says.

“Former H.P.D.,” Park says stiffly. “I used to be a homicide detective with

LAPD, then with H.P.D..”

“My dad was a cop. Been retired for a while. You’ve probably heard of him.

Baron Nohara.”

“Don’t know him.”

“Oh,” Shane says, eyebrows rising. She’s surprised that he doesn’t know of the infamous Baron Nohara. Seems like every cop on the island knew her father, even the ones who joined the force after he retired. “So why’d you leave the force?”

Park ignores her question. “Can we get back to this? Forensics said that Grant suffered a blow to the head, probably from falling on the rocks along the water. They

47 found rock fragments in Grant’s skull. Forensics thinks that Grant miscalculated the

jump and missed the water.”

Shane re-focuses on Kainoa’s drowning. “Something doesn’t seem right. Kainoa

surfed at China Walls since he was a teenager. I know that most people get beat up from

the waves, but still…”

“Seems like you knew the senator quite well,” Park says, raising an eyebrow.

“Was that from working with him?”

Shane looks directly into Park’s eyes. “At one point we were pretty close.”

“Anyway, forensics checked out the origins of the rock fragments. Turns out they

weren’t from China Walls, but from Spitting Caves.”

Shane remembers visiting the cliffs of Spitting Caves back when she was in

college; she and her friends would hang out there occasionally. During one visit, her

friend jumped from the cliff, falling eighty feet into the waves below. She couldn’t stop

staring at the water until her friend’s head bobbed to the surface and he climbed back

onto the rock. If anything, Spitting Caves is more of a jump-off location than a surfing

spot like China Walls.

She thinks about when she and Kainoa stopped by China Walls after a district

event. It was cold that evening, and Shane had loaned Kainoa an ex-boyfriend’s hoodie

that she found in the trunk of her car. As they sat on the chilled rock, their bodies pressed

together, she could smell the fabric softener in his clothes, could feel the warmth of his

skin. Spitting Caves and China Walls were his favorite spots on the island, he had said,

staring out at the water as the sun went down. China Walls was special to him, he had

said before they had sex on the rocks. A few weeks later, Shane found out, through

48 Capitol gossip, that the same location was where Kainoa proposed to his wife. The proposal happened a few days after he took Shane to China walls.

Lost in her thoughts, Shane flips through the email drafts until she finds one dated a few weeks ago in early March. It’s addressed to no one, but the subject contains,

“Portlock.” She remembers a few weeks ago reading in the paper about the recent development that just broke ground in Portlock. “Isn’t Spitting Caves near the new development in Portlock?” she asks.

“Yep, it’s near the site for those new vacation rentals. I read in the paper that the company’s marketing rep and lawyers were quick to point out that the Spitting Caves and

China Walls are public access ways and not included in their property. They don’t want any more bad publicity.”

Shane smirks at the thought. “Funny, considering that they already pissed off the community by purchasing all those luxury homes, then demolishing them to build rental properties.” She taps her fingertips on the table, her mind still on surfing. “Was

Kainoa’s board ever recovered?”

“H.P.D. found the board on top of the senator’s vehicle, parked in Portlock.”

“On top? Oh, you mean, attached to the board racks on the roof?”

“Yes,” Park says, narrowing his eyes.

Shane finishes her sandwich and looks at the “Portlock” email again. She studies

Kainoa’s email address: [email protected]. For all the drafts, Kainoa emailed her using his Capitol address, which meant that any email sent with that address was public domain. Yet the Portlock email seemed to be an abandoned draft. Maybe Kainoa was trying to contact someone using his personal email address.

49 “I think we need to get into Kainoa’s office,” Shane says. “Kainoa might have

left his laptop there. Maybe we could get into his personal email account.”

Park narrows his eyes at her. “What do you mean ‘we’? I work alone.”

“But we’re here right now, trying to make sense of these emails.”

“You’re the one who called me about these emails, remember? I don’t need your

help.”

“Obviously you could use the help.”

Park stares hard at her and is about to open his mouth when their waitress comes

by with their check. The waitress smiles widely at Park and asks if they want dessert, like a slice of custard pie or dobash cake, and leaves the check on the table when they decline. Shane watches as Park shifts his weight to pull out his wallet out of his jeans pocket. She can see why the waitress was smiling at Park; his tanned skin and medium build make him good-looking in that rugged sense. Now it just makes him irritating. She drops a twenty on the table. Park tosses the bill back towards her.

“Look, this isn’t some detective show,” Park says, getting to his feet. “Don’t think that you’re going to be able to dig up anything. You should drop it and focus on being a lawyer.”

Shane pockets the twenty and stuffs the papers back into the file folder.

“Whatever,” she says quietly, her phone and keys in hand. “I only want to find out why he wanted to reach me.”

Park turns to look at her as they walk towards the restaurant entrance. “Don’t lawyers have some code of conduct they need to adhere to?”

50 Shane’s eyes are wild. “But I know that there isn’t something right about this.

I’m going to figure it out.”

Park holds the door open for her. “I have a feeling that you’re not going to stop,” he says as she walks out of the restaurant. “Do I need to report you to the cops right now?”

Shane is ready to unleash something scathing at him, but Park cuts her off.

“Maybe you should forget this Grant business and get some sleep,” he says, walking towards his car on the Vineyard Boulevard side of the parking lot. He pauses and looks back at Shane, who parked by the entrance of the restaurant. “Whatever you’re looking for will be there tomorrow.”

Shane rolls her eyes as she unlocks her car door. “Doubt it,” she mutters as she turns the key in the ignition and drives back to Chinatown.

51 CHAPTER 3 WEDNESDAY

Shane is still in her pajamas when Jackson arrives at the loft at ten o’clock the next morning. Jackson walks to his seat, looks at Shane, dressed in her t-shirt and sweatpants, sitting at her desk, and raises his eyebrows before sitting down.

“Professional,” he says. “Did you even bathe yet?”

“We work in my apartment, so I can wear whatever the hell I want.” Shane sips her cold coffee. Her hair is knotted in a messy bun, and she has yet to take a shower.

“What are you doing here anyway? I thought you don’t come in today.”

“I get one exam dis morning, so I need one place to study.”

“This isn’t Starbucks.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and turns on his computer. “So what happened at da

Capitol yesterday? Was it all crazy?”

Shane looks at a PDF of one of her old columns. She had been looking it over instead of finalizing a will for a client, as she usually did, dreaming about the days when she was a writer. “It was interesting,” she says, closing both documents. “Ran into some former colleagues. At least one of them seemed happy to see me. The other one holds a grudge from my column. Rightfully so, I suppose.”

“I don’t know why you say dat kine stuff, Shane,” Jackson says, taking a spiral notebook out of his messenger bag. “Who cares if you wrote fo’ da papah. You just gotta be proud.” He waits for Shane’s reply, but after she doesn’t respond, he eventually opens his notebook.

52 Shane purses her lips and opens her email. She has an email from her sister

Mattie and a bunch of emails from department stores. She skims her sister’s email and

then closes the message. She’ll write back later.

The office phone rings, and Jackson answers the call. “Law Office of Shane

Nohara,” Jackson says, the tone of his voice raising a bit as he uses his fake receptionist

voice. “Oh, sure, one moment please.” He presses a button on the phone, and looks at

Shane. “It’s Hammond.”

“Fuck,” Shane hisses before she walks over and grabs the cordless phone. She

clears her throat and walks back to her desk before she puts the phone to her ear. “Mr.

Hammond…”

“Miss Nohara, how are you?” Erwin Hammond IV, the son of Shane’s client, elderly real estate mogul Mavis Hammond, says.

“Good, good,” Shane replies as she clicks on the window of her manuscript. She

pictures Hammond sitting in his large office in the Alexander and Baldwin building,

insurance documents on his desk, beads of sweat dotting his balding head. “What’s the

reason for your call?”

Hammond sighs, which Shane knows is a bad sign. “Look, I know that my

mother is donating more than half of her estate to the Bishop Museum, but—.”

“Mr. Hammond,” Shane says. “You need to bring that up with your mother and

your lawyer.”

“Miss Nohara, this is bullshit,” Hammond says, his voice rising. “My mother

isn’t of sound mind. She really can’t want to leave only ten percent of her estate to split

between myself and my brother.”

53 “The psychiatric evaluation from her latest doctor said that she was fine.”

“That crackpot doctor! I don’t know why Mother chose you as her estate lawyer.

Just because you’re a law school classmate of my nephew—”

“I don’t know why your mother hired me, Mr. Hammond. Maybe because her only grandson Derek and I are friends, but that’s her choice.”

“You can’t let Mother squander my, I mean, our inheritance!”

“You really need to talk to your lawyer,” Shane says. “Now I’m very busy and I need to get back to my work. Goodbye.” She hangs up.

Shane swivels her chair to face her computer. She tosses the phone back to

Jackson, who rolls his eyes and places the phone back on the cradle. She logs out of her account and stares at the ceiling for some time, wonders why she chose this profession in the first place. Is this what she thought her law career would be like?

She thinks about Kainoa again, and his need to contact her. How was she some how connected to this? She had no idea what Kainoa was up to, but she now she needs to find out.

She glances at Jackson, who is typing away at his computer instead of studying his notes, and once she makes sure he’s busy, she types Kainoa’s personal email address into the login. She stares at the password box. When she worked for Kainoa, she used to know the password to his Capitol email address, but that was years ago, and they came up with that password together. She types in the names of Kainoa’s children, but receives the “incorrect password” notification. She types in Christine’s name. Incorrect password.

54 Jackson walks to the fridge and pulls out a soda. On his way back to his desk, he looks at Shane’s face. “You look like you confused,” Jackson says.

Shane keeps her eyes on the computer screen. “Trying to figure something out.

Forgot a password.”

“You probably used some phrase that nobody would guess ‘cause it’s dumb.” He throws up his hands in self-defense when Shane shoots him a glare. “Sorry, just trying fo’ help.”

Shane sighs and rubs her temples. Jackson is probably right about something— the password would be something dumb that Kainoa came up with. She thinks about

Kainoa’s work email and the password they created for the account. Kainoa had insisted on using the same password for both his work and personal email accounts, so he wouldn’t have to remember two different passwords. Shane told him that using the same password would mean that someone would hack into both email accounts, but he ignored her. Although the Capitol passwords had to be changed constantly, there is a chance that

Kainoa still used that other password for his personal email.

Shane places her hands on the keyboard and types, “southshoresurf65.”

Suddenly the email page loads.

Shane shakes her head at Kainoa still using the same password. She scrolls through the pages of emails. Most of the recent emails are random messages from friends or family members. Some of the emails discuss Kainoa’s recent campaign: coordinating sign waving schedules, fundraiser locations, and district events. Shane sees some emails from Christine, mostly informing Kainoa about appointments or events for the children.

“Birthday party for Wessie’s friend.” “Pick up Wendy from swimming lessons.” “Kids’

55 dentist appointments on Saturday morning.” Shane clicks around, skimming past emails from familiar names, until she sees an email, dated in January, from someone named

Joshua Wright. The subject of the email is titled “Portlock Naupaka Kahakai.” Shane remembers the “Portlock” subject email in Park’s printouts last night. She opens the message:

Mr. Grant,

My assistant has uploaded the files to our server’s file drop site. Once you receive the proposal, please look it over and provide your feedback. Please note: you have 24 hours to log in and access the files before the server deletes them.

Best,

Joshua Wright

Vice President of Development and Operations

Wright Hôtelier Group

Shane’s eyebrows furrow as she reads the signature. Wright Hôtelier Group. The name sounds familiar, but she can’t place where she’s read it. She does a quick search of

Wright’s name and the company in the email account, and finds Kainoa’s reply to

Wright:

Josh,

56 I am writing to inform you that I received the files. I will call your office with my comments this afternoon.

Kainoa

Shane’s muscles tense as she sees Kainoa’s reply, which she is certain is dated on the same date as the email in Park’s folder. She pictures him sitting at his desk, writing the email on his laptop. What was contained in those files that he needed to look at?

Why wouldn’t they be sent via email? The files weren’t located in Kainoa’s email account, and there was no paper trail. The files were probably still on his computer, which she still has no access to. She stares at the screen, then prints both emails. She circles “Wright Hôtelier” and “Naupaka Kahakai” with a red pen.

“Jerald called me from D.C. last night,” Jackson says loudly, startling Shane. “He said dat his coworkers at Senator Inouye’s office was asking him all kine questions about

Senator Grant, since Jerald worked fo’ you guys when you was at da House.”

Shane logs out of the email and closes the browser window. “Why would they care?” she asks. “That’s stupid.”

“I dunno, I guess even da guys up dere care bout dat kine local stuff. Jerald said he was going call you latah, when he get time.”

Shane takes her coffee cup and breakfast dishes to the sink. “How is he doing?” she asks absentmindedly as she starts lathering up the dishes.

“Pretty good. His computah died da oddah day so he’s all stressin’. He said dat good ting he wen back up his files because his one tech guy friend can make one image or whatevah of his computah and put all da files in one new computah. He was

57 grumbling about maybe getting one Mac, but he dunno. I told him, ‘Hello why you gotta buy one desktop, just buy one laptop’—”

“Wait what?” Shane says, her soapy mug slipping from her hands and into the

sink. The thud startles both her and Jackson, who lets out a yelp. “Image? What are you

talking about?”

“I tink you make one copy of all the stuff on one computah and make it da same

on anoddah computah.”

Shane rinses the mug, leaving the rest of the dishes unwashed. “Holy shit,” she

mumbles, drying her hands on her sweatpants. She looks at the clock on the wall and then rushes to her phone on her desk. “Hey,” she says when Jenna answers the tech support office line. “Instead of that beer, can you meet for lunch today? I have a favor to ask. Computer trouble.”

In two hours Shane, freshly showered and hair dried, walks towards the

Remington College Building on Bishop Street. Jenna first suggested that they meet at the café at the Hawai‘i State Art Museum, but Shane guessed that there would be dozens of legislators and lobbyists dining there, since it was the only nice dine-in restaurant within minutes of the Capitol. Jenna likes the dim sum at the Chinese place in the Remington

College Building, so Shane offered to treat Jenna to char siu bao and pork hash.

Shane reaches the building and walks downstairs to the restaurants at the basement floor. The small restaurants swarm with downtown business people picking up

58 lunch. She sees Jenna, sitting at a metal table, fiddling with her smartphone. She walks up to her friend and taps her shoulder.

“Hey girl,” Jenna says, giving Shane a warm hug and a bright smile. Her dirty

blonde hair is tied into a ponytail, and her black skinny slacks and black sweater make

her look miles taller than Shane. “Casual Thursday?”

Shane laughs and looks down at her jeans and gingham shirt as they walk into the

dim sum place. “Hey, at least my shirt has a collar. You don’t need a dress code when

you’re self-employed. If you hold the table, I’ll order our food.” She walks into the

restaurant and orders the food, but when she reaches into her bag to get her wallet, she

can’t find it. She opens her bag wider and feels around. Nothing. She pouts when she

realizes that she must have left her wallet in her car. Luckily she remembers the twenty

from last night in her pocket, so she pulls out the wadded bill. Good thing she wore the

same jeans.

In short time, Shane returns to the table with a couple sodas and two large

Styrofoam take-out containers filled with dim sum. They each take a pair of chopsticks

and dig in. Shane dips a chopped shrimp-and-chive-filled dumpling into a small

container of shoyu mixed with hot mustard, and takes a bite. The salty heat of the

mustard singes her sinuses. “So how’s work going?” she asks, her eyes watering.

“Same,” Jenna says as she peels the paper off the bottom of a char siu bao. “I’m

still the only haole working in the chief clerk’s office. It doesn’t bother me, but I know

some of the staff and the senators think that I won’t get local jokes or understand pidgin.

It’s like, you know, I’ve lived here for over ten years, since I moved here with Mase after

college, and he’s a local boy. Anyway, Tech Support has an opening and the top

59 candidates were this haole guy from Washington who used to do IT for Boeing and some

local Japanese kid just out of UH.”

Shane nods. “Who are they picking?”

Jenna finishes chewing her bite of bao. “Probably the local kid. Like, the haole

guy just moved here with his wife, but he worked for Boeing, you know? Can you

imagine what their IT network is like? I don’t think the UH kid even had a full time job

before.” She takes a sip of soda. “I shouldn’t complain since I got the job because the

chief clerk is my mother-in-law’s friend. But it would’ve been nice to not be the only

blonde in the office. Anyway, where’s your laptop? I thought you needed computer

help.”

Shane scans the area for people she recognizes. “Actually, Jenna, I need you to

do something for me.” She lowers her voice and tells Jenna about Park’s visit and the

emails from Kainoa. She fills her in on mostly everything, or at least what she thinks

Jenna needs to know. “So I can’t get into the office, but I was wondering if you could get

into Kainoa’s office and make an image or whatever of his laptop. I have a feeling

there’s a lead on his computer.”

Jenna’s green eyes widen to circles. She puts down her chopsticks and stares at

the table. “But why would he want to contact you?” she whispers.

“I don’t know. We hadn’t talked to each other ever since I quit. Also, I just can’t

believe he would accidentally drown. It just doesn’t add up. Anyway, now my curiosity is in overdrive and I need to know what he was working on. It was something about a

Wright Hotel.”

60 Jenna sighs and rubs her temples with her fingers. “Is this what you were calling me about last night?”

Shane gives her a reluctant nod. “Yeah, sort of.”

“Girl, what have you gotten yourself into? This could cost me my job. And it’s

Kainoa of all people. Are you sure there isn’t another reason why you need to know about this?” Jenna holds up her hand to stop Shane from answering. “Wait, forget it. I don’t want to know.”

“Okay, so you think you can help me out? I just need the files about that Wright group.”

Jenna looks at Shane with the same weary gaze that she’s given Shane before, especially when Shane was working at the House. “Well, you did buy me lunch.” She takes a sip of her soda. “I wish there was Jack Daniels in this. Anyway, let me think about it. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off, but I’ll think of something.”

Shane hugs her friend again. “Awesome! I think we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“We?” Jenna says as she picks up her chopsticks. “Look, Shane, you better—”

“I know, I know, watch out. Christ, Jenna, you tell me that all the time.”

“No shit. But when do you ever listen?”

Park drops his chopsticks and ramen spoon into the leftover dashi at the bottom of the ceramic bowl and leans back in his seat at the counter. He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth and the inside of his cheeks, as if it would wipe away the salty aftertaste in his mouth. He gulps down what’s left of his water and wonders when the waitress is

61 going to refill his cup. He looks around the restaurant and realizes that it might be a while before he gets more water. The new ramen shop had been empty when he and a family friend, Star-Advertiser news editor Lance Chun, first got there, but now the other

counter seats and booths are filling up.

Lance slurps away at his shoyu ramen. He takes fucking forever to eat, which

always drives Park crazy when they get lunch together. Park opens his mouth to tell him

to hurry the fuck up but instead pulls out his BlackBerry and checks his email.

“So what’d you think of the ramen?” Lance asks, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. He used to be a reporter for the Star-Bulletin and a freelancer for other Hawai‘i publications such as Honolulu Magazine and Pacific Business News. After the newspaper merger with the Advertiser, Lance was vying for an editor position, but didn’t have the reporter portfolio to back up his ambitions. All he needed was to report on some breaking news stories to set his resume apart from the rest. When Park, who was still a detective with H.P.D. at the time, got a phone call from his grandma, asking if her cousin’s grandson could talk to him, he hadn’t even heard of the guy. After Grandma’s urging, Park felt obligated to help him out, and started giving Lance tips on key cases that

Park was investigating on Homicide. After some major breakthroughs and stellar reporting, Lance got his stories and his promotion, and told Park to call him anytime he needed information.

“It was okay,” Park says. “Not sure if it’s worth the eight bucks.”

Lance smiles. “You’re so fucking cheap sometimes. At least it’s within walking distance of the office. I come here once in a while, when I don’t feel like driving.”

62 Park rolls his eyes. Even though the restaurant was near the newsroom, Lance

still asked Park to pick his ass up in order to avoid walking in the voggy afternoon heat.

“Can’t bust my balls for wanting my money’s worth when I eat something.”

Lance sips a spoonful of dashi. “So what can I do for my distant cousin?” he asks, around his slurping. “I don’t have all day. I’m an important news editor now, you know.”

“Yeah, thanks to me,” Park says, pulling out his wallet and dropping a twenty on the counter. “Anyway, I need some background info on a person who I hope you know.

Have you heard of Shane Nohara? She used to be a writer for the Star-Bulletin around

the same time as you.”

Lance raises his eyebrows as a smile slides across his face. “Oh, I know Shane all

right. Former columnist. We started at the paper around the same time. Ho, she’s pretty

hot too—got that mixed Japanese, Hawaiian, haole thing going on. Some of the other

guys at the paper didn’t like her because she was a real bitch sometimes, but I kind of

admired her creativity when it came to her column. She brought up readership by a few

percentage points.”

“How’d she do that?”

“By writing about local politicians. She’d comment on their bills and

negotiations or make predictions on what issues the politicians would tackle, especially

during campaign season. You know, all that typical political writer crap. But her angle

was pretty much running it like a gossip column, which her editor was down for, I guess.

She used to attend political fundraisers and write about who attended, what the food was

like, where the fundraiser was held. She’d comment on the parties they used to throw at

63 the Capitol, and the drama going on. Sometimes she included gossip and rumors, like which politicians wanted to chair various committees, or which alliances were being formed.”

“That doesn’t seem too bad,” Park says. “What’s the big deal? Isn’t all of that political shit public knowledge anyway?”

“You still don’t get how Hawai‘i works, do you, Russ?” Lance says, dropping his spoon into the empty bowl. “Everybody is connected to someone somehow. It’s a small place, and the Capitol is even smaller. Shane writing about that shit was juicy because everyone knew these people because they’re cousins of someone, or classmates with so- and-so at whateva school. It made politics interesting to people who didn’t care about it to begin with. On the other hand, Shane pissed off a lot of people. It’s not surprising that she didn’t get a job at the paper after the merger. Some editors didn’t like her reporting style. Personally, I don’t think she did anything wrong. Every journalist has to find some way to tell the story.”

Park holds up his empty water glass as the waitress passes by. She glances at him, then grabs a pitcher from behind the counter and sloppily refills his and Lance’s glasses, splashing water onto the countertop. She tosses some napkins at Park and walks away to take more orders. “Do you think she held a grudge against the Legislature or something?” Park asks, mopping up water with a napkin, trying to avoid wetting his clothes.

“Maybe. She had this insider knowledge that people didn’t have access to. I heard that she had ties there and worked a legislative session at one point. To be fair, she

64 was only hard on certain legislators, not all of them. I think she respected some of them.

The ‘good’ ones, I guess.”

Park lets out a chuckle. “‘Good ones.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

“Why’d you want to know about Shane anyway?”

“I just met her the other day. She’s affiliated with a case I’m working on.”

Lance’s narrow eyes widen. “No shit! What’s it about? Can you give me a lead?”

“Are you still digging for stories? You’re an editor now.”

“Always trying to save my ass,” Lance says, pushing away from the counter to get off the stool. “Writers are a dime a dozen, Russ. There’s a lot of competition out there.

You gotta set yourself apart from the others. Speaking of competition, I gotta get back to the office before someone tries to steal my job. Thanks for lunch.”

Park follows Lance out of the restaurant and to his car. The humidity hits Park in the face and sticks to his skin. He thinks about Shane—she did have insider knowledge that Park doesn’t understand. He’s positive that Shane had nothing to do with those emails that Grant tried to send, and that she didn’t have contact with him for some time, but he knows that Shane has some tie to the senator. Maybe it was guilt or regret? Either way, Christine had her own suspicions, even if they were off. If Christine already knew about Shane’s connection to her husband, then why did she need to know more? He makes a mental note to call Christine with an update as soon as he returns to the office.

“Well, I can’t make any promises about giving you a tip on this. Client confidentiality.

If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

65 “Sure, sure,” Lance says as they get into the car. He peers at a tissue box at his feet and then pulls out a wallet. “Hey, is this yours?”

Park turns on the ignition and looks at the wallet, which was in the same place that he tossed it the night before. “No, someone left it behind last night. I was planning on returning it.”

“Don’t you think you should return it soon?”

“I should,” Park says as he drives back to the Advertiser office, “but I’m in no rush. I’ll let ’em sweat it out a bit.”

“That’s fucked up, Russ,” Lance says with a laugh. “Fucked up.”

With their stomachs full of dim sum, Shane walks with Jenna back to the Capitol.

“So who are you gonna talk to?” Jenna asks as they pass random constituents and staff and head towards the nearest elevator. “I thought you’d want to lay low or something.”

“I dunno,” Shane says with a shrug. “Who do I know here besides you? Most of my former colleagues at the House have left the Capitol to go on to bigger and better things. There’s Perry. Nina’s a lost cause.”

Jenna presses the “Down” button to return to her office in the basement. “Maybe you should go to Kainoa’s office?” She pauses and glances around to see if anyone is within listening distance. “This is just a suggestion, but you could talk to Rianne.”

Shane rolls her eyes. As a writer for the Bulletin, Shane had run into Rianne every session, as the girl continued to work as an aide for Kainoa every year until she graduated from college. Shane would say hello out of politeness, and she would

66 occasionally catch Rianne staring at her from across the hallway or across the room during session hearings. Last year, Jenna told Shane that Rianne, after working briefly as a legislative lobbyist for a non-profit environmental group, had recently been hired as one of Kainoa’s two senate staffers. She remembers how she scoffed at that news, especially since Rianne had been difficult to handle when she worked for Shane. The girl wouldn’t finish her tasks, would show up to Legislative events uninvited, and would disappear from the office for long periods of time. The only task that the girl had been good at was following Kainoa around and taking pictures of him during events. But maybe Kainoa wanted to hire people who were loyal to him after all those years.

“Why in the hell would I talk to her?” Shane asks, voice tense. “She watched him with goo-goo eyes every time he was around. She was more interested in staring at him than doing her work.”

“She used to work for Kainoa upstairs, and she was probably in charge of his schedule,” Jenna says when the elevator doors open. “I mean, you can talk to other people if you want. Just remember that whoever you talk to here, girl, they’re gonna blab. There’s a reason why people say that the Capitol walls have ears and eyes.”

Shane waves goodbye to Jenna as the elevator doors close. She waits a few seconds and then presses the “Up” button. She knows that Jenna has a point; information spreads throughout the Capitol like an infectious disease. The Capitol is a place of civic knowledge, completely open to the public, and some employees felt that the same communal obligation was held to discussing their colleague’s social lives. She briefly wonders what things were said about her in this place, but shrugs it off.

67 When the doors open, she enters the elevator car and presses the button for the

fourth floor, frowning at the thought of visiting Kainoa’s senate office. As the doors start

to close, she hears the pounding of feet on the concrete. “Hold the elevator!” someone

calls. Shane reaches out and presses the “Door Open” button just as Perry Mukai runs

into the elevator. A smile instantly appears on Shane’s face.

“Shane!” he exclaims, eyes wide, when he sees Shane. Sweat dots his forehead, and he briefly gives her a hug in between hard breaths. He flaps the neck of his aloha shirt with his free hand, as the other hand holds a take-out container. “Oh my, twice in one week! Whatchu doing here?”

“I met Jenna Shigetani for lunch,” Shane says, pressing the third floor button for

him. “You know her? From the Senate?”

Perry scratches his chin in thought. “Oh, I think so. Tall blonde girl, right? Her

last name is Shigetani? I nevah know she was Japanese.”

“Married to one.”

“Oooh, kay, now makes sense,” Perry says, “sistah looks full haole.” When the

doors open on the third floor, he takes a step out. “You get time? You like hang out in my office? The Legislature is in recess right now, so the reps are God-knows-where. My boss no even stay today. Dat’s why I wearing jeans.”

Shane follows Perry to his office. Once inside, she feels the cool chill of the air conditioning on her skin. The office shape and furniture layout is a mirror image of her

former workplace a few doors down. The office is decorated with Perry’s taste: along the

wall sits an ivory leather sofa that faces the dingy cubicle workstations of the temporary

session staff; potted indoor palm trees in the corners; MP3 player with speakers in

68 another corner; flat panel television standing atop a lateral file cabinet. Artwork from the

State Art Collection line the walls.

“Your office is just like I remember it,” Shane says, looking around the space.

“Where are your aides?”

Perry pulls out a drink from a fridge tucked away in the corner of the room.

“Probably out to lunch. They driving me nuts this year. I wish I could trade them in for

new staff. You like bottled water or soda?”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Shane says. She takes a seat at a staffer’s desk chair, which is across from Perry’s desk. “How’s Session going?”

“Same shit,” Perry says. He opens his plate lunch container and starts digging into hamburger steak with gravy. “You know, bills, House leadership, answering constituent requests. I’ll have to start campaigning for my boss soon.”

Shane rolls her eyes. She doesn’t miss those days during election years, when office managers help their bosses with planning community events, writing up campaign mailers, coordinating sign waving schedules. It’s illegal for campaign materials to be kept in the office, so most office managers and legislators kept their campaign planning for after hours. Although, the illegality didn't faze some people, as some O.M.s would work on the re-election campaigns on the clock anyway. It wasn’t mandatory for the staff to help their bosses with the re-election campaign, but helping with the campaign was considered to be a form of insurance. It was job security. If the boss gets re-elected, then the O.M. keeps his or her job. If the boss loses the district seat, then it’s a one way ticket to the unemployment office.

“So, the oddah day, you said you was practicing law?”

69 Shane perks up when Perry mentions her practice. “Yeah, I decided to make use of my law degree and open a practice. It’s going okay, although I do miss writing.

Journalism seemed like more my thing, but I guess it’s not very reliable these days…”

“I see,” Perry murmurs around a mouth of hamburger and rice, nodding absently.

“Oh, I want to say sorry about Nina yesterday. Aisus, was so drahmatic. You know how bitchy she can be sometimes.”

Shane rolls her eyes. “Right…sometimes…she was always a bitch to me, Perry.”

“I know, Nina is hard to deal with, but I was small kine shocked when Rianne

said stuff. I tink Rianne was being protective of her boss. You know, she liked Kainoa a

lot. She was always jealous that you and Kainoa were so close. Not everybody has that

kine close relationship wit their boss.”

Shane presses her lips together when she hears that. She nods slowly, but doesn’t

respond.

Perry snaps his fingers, as if he just remembered something important. “Actually,

we just had lunch in Kainoa’s office before he died. Was so weird after we heard that he

was dead. Like one day you see him, and the next day he’s gone. Braddah was so

handsome too. Aisus, he was so fine. What a waste. Tragic.”

“Right,” Shane says, slowly swiveling side to side in the chair. “What was the

lunch for?”

“Oh, just cuz. You know how Rianne was one of his staff, right? She wen invite my office, Rep. Wie’s office, and some oddah people over for one potluck lunch. It was the last day of the five-day recess, so she wanted to do something.” Perry pauses as he

cuts his food with his fork. “Was kinda interesting, dat lunch.”

70 Shane knows that she has to seem uninterested, yet curious at the same time. She

remembers Perry’s gossip trick: the guy always dangled some bit of information and

waited for you to open the topic for discussion. Shane watches him chew a few bites

before she takes the bait. “Interesting? How so?”

“Well,” Perry says in an animated voice, “you know Rianne, she’s so cute and

everyting, but she so young, so naïve or whatevas. I remember when she was working

for you and she seemed like a baby, she was so young. She was always following Kainoa

around and stuff, ‘cause I tink she had one crush on him. Remembah when she would get

all huhu when people would ask about his girlfriend or about the rumors with him and

oddah girls?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Shane mutters. Rianne was always more interested in

talking to Kainoa or tracking his love life than doing actual work.

“Wasn’t Rianne one freshman in college back den when she worked for you?

Like I can’t believe she got this current job at her age—”

“Perry, I wasn’t that much older than Rianne when I was Kainoa’s O.M..”

“I know, but you was different, you knew what to do and all dat stuff. Rianne,

like, maybe she no get boundaries or something. When we had lunch, she was making

like she was hosting some luncheon at her house, saying ‘Kainoa will be here any

minute’ and all dat. I don’t tink Kainoa knew we was having one party in his office. I

remembah, he walked into the office and we was all sitting there, with fold-out tables in

the middle of the room, and he looked shocked. He called Rianne into his office and we could hear them arguing through the door. We was pau eating by then, so we just cleaned up while they were talking and then left. Was so awkward.”

71 “Weird,” Shane says, leaning back in her chair. She remembers how Kainoa didn’t mind extreme socializing in their office during work hours, and he welcomed any who’s who into their office to hang out. Shane used to grumble that it looked unprofessional when constituents walked into the office and it seemed like a reproduction of Animal House, but Kainoa used to wave her off. Maybe he learned something since she worked for him.

Perry sighs and closes the lid of his plate lunch container. “Yeah, so dat was my last time seeing him. When I heard the news about his death, I was so sad.” He gets to his feet and stretches his arms wide. “Anyway, I need one smoke. You wanna walk down with me?”

Shane and Perry take the elevator back down to the rotunda. Perry walks towards the stairs facing ‘Iolani Palace and heads to the unofficial “smoke break” bench along the stairs’ guardrail, next to the reflecting swamp. Shane walks near him and winces when the water’s stink fills her nose. “I don’t know how you can smoke here, Perry,” she says.

“It smells like shit.”

“Nah, you get used to ‘em,” Perry says as he takes a seat on the bench and pulls out a cigarette from a deflated Benson & Hedges pack. He lights his cigarette and takes a puff. “So, Shane, before you go, I like ask you something.”

Shane remains standing. “Shoots,” she says, arms folding in front of her chest.

Perry flicks invisible ash from his cigarette. “So dis came into my mind because I saw you yesterday. I like ask you, what was up wit you and Kainoa?”

“Whatchu mean?” Shane asks, even though she knows what Perry is talking about.

72 “You know, you and Kainoa. You was so…close. Like I heard you guys used to hang out and stuff. People would ask me all the time. In fact, remember Mark, da former

O.M. for Rep. Char? He told me once, years back, dat he was drinking with friends at one bar on Hotel Street and he saw you and Kainoa going into your apartment building.

He asked me about it, but I denied anyting because I didn’t know.” Perry stops and inhales from the cigarette. “I thought I’d ask you directly. You know, go straight to da source.”

Shane looks directly into Perry’s eyes and opens her mouth slightly. Jenna’s words pop into her mind. The Capitol walls have ears and eyes. “We were friends,”

Shane says, reciting the words from memory. “That was it, as unsexy as it sounds. Sure, we checked out happy hour in Chinatown a few times, just to shoot the shit, and he would use my bathroom since my apartment was right there. That was all. Sorry, I hope nobody hassled you for information.”

“Oh, makes sense,” Perry says slowly, smoke coming out of his nose and mouth as he speaks. “No, nobody was hassling me, but I tink people would ask me ‘cause dey knew dat you and I were friends. I guess, you know, people make up stuff because he was so handsome and you’re young and pretty.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.”

Perry lets out a laugh. “You so funny. Also, he was dating his wife for long time, right? Maybe people forget dat he was in a relationship. People only go by what dey see sometimes.” He shrugs and taps the ash from his cigarette. “Anyways, was good seeing you again, Shane. You gotta come visit more often.”

73 Shane thanks him for hanging out and then gives him honi. As she walks away

from the Capitol, she feels relieved for dodging Perry’s question, but her relief is

instantly replaced with curiosity as to why he brought it up. She wonders who else used

to ask about her and Kainoa. She knew that her reappearance at the Capitol would start

some talk, but she thought that it would be about her former column. She was used to the

comments people would make about her when she was with the paper, but maybe people

were interested about her time as an office manager. She thought that discussion about

her and Kainoa would’ve died down by now. Maybe it hasn’t.

Suddenly, she feels she’s being watched, as if someone she knows, such as Jenna,

is behind her. She stops and looks behind her briefly, but the walkway is clear of people.

She glances up at the offices above her, and thinks that she sees a curtain being pulled closed, but she’s sure that her eyes are playing tricks on her. She knows that she can’t see anything past the window tint and the shadow of the roof’s overhang. She tries to

shake the feeling, and keeps walking. She tries to ignore the hair sticking up on her arms.

74 CHAPTER 4 THURSDAY

Overturned couch cushions are tossed in the middle of the office. Lipstick, a press pass, a pen, a notebook, and a hand mirror lie scattered around a deflated and empty handbag on the carpet. Pillows, blankets, and sheets are strewn from the bed in the corner. Papers that were once arranged in a neat mess on the desk are now in a chaotic frenzy on the floor. Jackson’s desk, which is always clean, remains untouched.

Shane stands in the middle of the loft, hands on her hips, sweat dripping down her forehead and temples, staring at the mess around her apartment. Her chest heaves as she tries to think of where she left her wallet. Yesterday, after returning home from the

Capitol, Shane had thoroughly searched her car. Although inside her car she found drained soda bottles, empty chewing gum packets, and eighty-eight cents, the wallet was nowhere to be found. This is the second time that Shane is searching her apartment, although now she’s doing a thorough strip-search of every area of the loft.

“Fuck!” she yells, grabbing her hair close to her scalp. She plops down on one of the couch cushions in the center of the floor. The last time she saw her wallet was last night, when she met Detective Park at Zippy’s. She must have dropped it somewhere in the parking lot. For all she knows, the wallet is as good as lost. She sighs, rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. Meeting with Park was a waste of time, especially since he didn’t offer her any sort of help. All he provided her was an opportunity to lose her wallet.

75 Her cell phone rings from somewhere under her desk. Shane rushes over and digs through the documents and newspapers until she finds it. She answers with a hasty

“Hello.”

“Shane?” a familiar, yet tired, voice greets. “It’s Jerald.”

“Hey Jer,” Shane says. She smiles and sinks into her desk chair. “How are you doing?”

“Good, good. What about you? Are you a famous lawyer yet?”

“Not even close. Your good-for-nothing brother told me that you were going to call. I still can’t believe that I agreed to this internship.”

“Don’t be so hard on him,” Jerald laughs. “Jacks is a good kid, even though he can be lazy and talks back once in a while.”

“Once in a while?”

“Okay, a lot. I think I was worse than him when I was his age. But luckily I had a boss like you to straighten me out.”

Shane remembers Jerald sitting at his desk in their office at the Capitol, his skinny twenty-two-year-old body dressed in his typical “work uniform” of wrinkled chinos and an un-tucked aloha shirt, his faded and ripped HPU backpack lying where he dumped it at his feet. She pictures today’s Jerald, sitting in his apartment in D.C., probably dressed in a business suit and polished loafers, looking like an older version of the college graduate he was when she first met him. Now he’s an aide to Senator Daniel Inouye, a job for which she had provided a reference. She can’t take credit for Jerald’s success; the kid was smart and a great employee. Shane definitely had nothing to do with that. “No, you

76 weren’t a pain in the ass like Jackson. And I still think it’s weird when you refer to me as

your boss. We were coworkers when I was committee clerk.”

“Please, you were pretty much my boss, even if we were coworkers during that one session. Cora was such an idiot office manager that you were running that office

until Kainoa fired her ass.”

Shane’s chest sinks in a little as she hears Kainoa’s name. She props her feet onto

her desk. “Anyway, how are things going in Inouye’s office? What time is it there?”

“About ten-thirty. I just got home from the office now. I’m really enjoying it

here, even though it’s far from home. I think in my last email I told you about my girlfriend Cassie, the one from Aiea? She’s the one who told me about the accident. She read about it in the Advertiser online. Everyone in the office was asking me about

Kainoa since a few of them knew that I worked for a local rep. I never even had a chance

for the information to sink in.”

“I only heard about Kainoa a few days ago. I was traveling on the mainland.”

Jerald pauses. “I spoke to Rianne earlier. She called me while I was at work, but

I could only talk to her for a few minutes. I think she wanted someone to talk to about

Kainoa, since she’s unsure if she’ll have a job anymore.”

“Jesus,” Shane says through clenched teeth.

Jerald sighs. “I know you don’t care for her—”

“That’s an understatement.”

“She sounded really shaken up, Shane. She’s going to be out of a job soon,

especially since Sheila Nakamoto will probably keep her current staff when she’s acting

president. I feel bad for her, in a way.”

77 Shane rolls her eyes. Poor Jerald, always trying to make things right. He was always the one to pull Rianne aside and gently set her straight when Shane started threatening to fire her for whatever ridiculously stupid thing she was doing. “You would feel bad. I’m not nice like you.”

“You’re nice, Shane. Well, when you want to be.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment, Jerald.”

“Anyway, Rianne said that Kainoa’s funeral is tonight. I think it’s supposed to be private, but a bunch of Capitol people are going after work to pay their respects to

Kainoa’s family. Maybe you should go check out the funeral? It’s at Hosoi.”

Shane looks out the window at the cars driving through Chinatown. She imagines the faces of the legislators and the staff at the sight of her. What would happen if she were to show up at the mortuary on Nu‘uanu Avenue. Would she be forced out of the funeral? Would they allow her to pay her respects? Would there be hushed conversations about her after she left? “I don’t know if that’d be a good idea,” she murmurs.

“Well, I wish I could be there,” Jerald says. “He was always nice to me…”

Shane grits her teeth. Kainoa was always nice to people. He had been nice to

Shane once. That didn’t turn out so well. The same gnawing feeling returns to Shane’s stomach.

After a long discussion of how things are in both Hawai‘i and D.C., Jerald tells

Shane that it was good to catch up, but he has to get to bed. Shane tosses her phone onto the desk. She watches the orange wash of the setting sun on the street outside the window. Usually her conversations with Jerald make her feel happy, but now she feels

78 empty. She looks around the quiet loft and wishes that someone were here, if not to talk to her, at least fill the space. She walks to the kitchen, kicking the couch cushions out of her way, and pours a whiskey on the rocks.

She sips on her drink while standing in the kitchen, leans her torso against the kitchen counter. She catches her reflection in the shiny metal of the silver toaster: bags under her eyes, make-up melting with her sweat, hair in a messy bun. Seven years ago, she would never walk around looking this haggard. But who saw her on a regular basis anyway? She “worked” from home, and the only person who she interacted with was

Jackson. It seems like those who knew her from her days at the Capitol, such as Jerald and Jenna, had all changed for the better. Jerald has a great job in D.C. Jenna is happily married and has two beautiful children. They were growing, progressing in their futures.

Why is she the only one not moving forward?

There was an afternoon like this, years ago, when Shane had asked the same question. It was Friday afternoon, the start of the Fourth of July three-day weekend. She was working late at her office at the Capitol, answering dozens of constituent emails about fireworks pollution, and drafting legislative certificates for honored people in the district. The other reps’ office managers were gone for the day, most of them having taken vacation for the weekend to get a head start on all the grilling and family barbecues. The only plan that Shane had was a barbecue at Jenna and Mason’s Nu‘uanu home on the holiday. Since nobody was around the Capitol, Shane had locked the door.

Silence always helped her catch up on work.

Those days, Kainoa was starting his re-election campaign and was hardly in the office, but for the past month, he started coming in more often. He’d stop by the office

79 from Hawai‘i Kai just to check his mail, which she piled in his in-tray. Sometimes he’d buy lunch for both him and Shane. He’d drop by to help her stuff envelopes for district mail outs, which he never did during Session, since they had their temporary Session staff. In fact, during Session, he was always in the other rep’s offices, sitting in on their meetings about bill proposals and maintaining House leadership. He would only come into their office to get his laptop or to attend meetings with visitors. Since Session was over and it was only he and Shane in the office, Shane had noticed this increase in

Kainoa’s attentiveness, but she didn’t think anything of it. Some bosses were friendly and wanted to help.

Shane remembers the rush that surged through her body when she heard the jingle of his keys as he unlocked the door. She was barefoot, sitting cross-legged in her desk chair. When she heard the keys in the lock, she put on her heels, smoothed out her dress, and walked to the door just as her boss stepped in the office.

Kainoa had a way of walking into a room as if he was walking on stage. He always looked at the floor when he opened the door, but would look up as soon as he entered the room, making eye contact with whoever was there. He was surprised to see

Shane, since the door was locked. “I didn’t know you were here,” he said. He was dressed in a polo shirt and nice jeans, which he normally wore to the office during the interim months in between Session. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for the weekend?”

“Catching up on work,” Shane said as Kainoa sat at his desk. They worked for another hour, talking about random things. Over the past few months, they learned that they both like the same movies and television shows. They both liked Japanese food.

They both had majored in political science, albeit from different universities. When

80 Shane finished her last email and she was about to leave, Kainoa asked if she wanted to grab a drink before heading home. “To celebrate the weekend,” he said, that famous smile spread across his face. Shane remembered the bottles of red wine given to Kainoa as belated birthday gifts from the other reps. She had hidden them in Kainoa’s credenza.

Most of the reps drank in their offices after work hours.

They were on the second bottle when Kainoa had asked Shane about her law degree. “What are you doing working here?” Kainoa had said, from his desk chair, voice slurred, as he pointed at Shane with the red Dixie cup filled with Chianti. “You have a law degree. You’re smart. You’re too good for this desk job.”

Shane was lying on the old leather couch in Kainoa’s office. She kicked off her heels, removed her cardigan to get some air in the stuffy office. “I don’t think I can be a lawyer. Nobody will hire me.”

Kainoa got up from his chair and sat next to Shane, his body close to her feet.

“Maybe I can ask my father for a referral. He’s a retired judge, but he has connections.”

Shane ignored him. It was dark outside, and she could see her reflection in the windows of Kainoa’s office. She walked to the windows and peered outside. When she put her fingers to the glass, it was cool to the touch, even though the air conditioning had turned off hours earlier. “My law school classmates got jobs because their family friends are lawyers or judges. I shouldn’t need referrals like them.”

“You know that’s how Hawai‘i works,” Kainoa said. “It’s who you know. And what they do.”

Shane turned around to look at him. “Everyone is moving forward in their careers except for me. I worked so hard, yet I can’t find a job.”

81 “I know how you feel,” Kainoa said. “My brother Jeremy, he’s some hot shot doctor in L.A. Fucker isn’t even on island. My father is always talking about how accomplished he is, how he’s doing so well. Jeremy is preserving the family name with his success. Me? What have I accomplished? I’m only a full-time local politician. I guess that’s not good enough. Well, I know that’s not good enough because my dad tells me that every day.”

It got quiet in the room. Shane pressed her lips together, not knowing what to say at first. She knew how he felt, having a father who had different expectations of success.

She had friends with absent fathers, or friends with demanding fathers, but for some reason her friends didn’t understand how she felt. There was something about Kainoa that clicked with her. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she could feel it. And she hadn’t felt it with anyone else. “I think you’re doing a good thing,” Shane said quietly. “You’re accomplishing a lot. You’re a success.”

Suddenly Kainoa was in front of her, his tall body standing so close that she could feel his warmth through their clothes. She knew that she should’ve stepped back away from him, but she didn’t want to. She had looked into his handsome face, into his eyes that she now felt lost in. “I probably haven’t said this before, but I appreciate you being here,” he had said, holding onto her arms. That was all he said before he kissed her.

A blaring car horn snaps Shane back to the present. She looks at her reflection in the toaster and puts a hand to her cheeks, which are hot to the touch. Her eyes sting and her vision blurs, but she takes a deep breath and grits her teeth until the tears recede. She takes a deep breath, clears her throat, and finishes her watered-down whiskey in one gulp.

She pours another drink and adds fresh ice cubes. As she walks towards her desk,

82 taking large sip of whiskey, there’s a knock on the door. She pulls open the door and

almost drops the glass when she sees Detective Park, dressed in a black button-down shirt and gray slacks, standing in her doorway. She swallows and doesn’t have a chance to say anything before he raises an eyebrow at her drink. She doesn’t try to hide the irritation spreading across her face. “So what?” she snaps, stepping aside so he can enter the office. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Once inside, Park lets out a whistle when he sees the mess. He’s carrying a manila envelope in his hand. “Christ. Did this place get ransacked or something?”

“Self-inflicted,” Shane says, putting her drink on Jackson’s desk. She picks up the cushions and returns them to the couch. “I can’t find my wallet. I practically destroyed this place trying to look for it.”

Park pulls something out of the envelope. “Well, I came by to give you this,” he says, handing the missing wallet to Shane.

The immediate relief Shane feels is soon replaced by confusion and then anger.

She looks at his face for a bit, then at his hand, and snatches the wallet from him. She immediately opens it. Nothing is missing. Cash and credit cards are all there. “So you had it this entire time?”

“You left it behind at Zippy’s. Our waitress ran outside to give it to you, but you already drove off.” He takes a seat in Jackson’s chair and grins at her furrowed brow and crossed arms. “You’re welcome.”

Shane rolls her eyes and puts the wallet back in her handbag. “Thanks, I guess, even though it’s a little creepy that you had it,” she mutters. “Well, since you returned my wallet, I suppose I should offer you a drink for being so gracious…”

83 “I’ll take a soda. I don’t drink alcohol.”

Shane rolls her eyes. High and mighty non-alcohol drinkers annoy her to no end.

She grabs a soda from the fridge and hands it to him. “So you came all this way to return my wallet? Don’t you have work to do? Oh no, wait, you’re self-employed, like me.”

“I’m sure you know that Kainoa Grant’s funeral is today,” Park says as he opens his soda.

Shane picks up her drink and sits on the couch. “I heard about it,” she says, staring at Park and swirling the whiskey and ice. Some of the condensation drips onto her thigh, seeps into her jeans. “What’s it to you?”

“Are you attending? Pay your respects to your former boss’s family?”

Shane shrugs. “I was planning on staying home. Is that why you’re here? Are you trying to convince me not to attend?” She stops talking when she realizes that her voice is rising. She takes a breath and clears her throat.

Park leans forward on his elbows. “No. I just wanted to see if you knew about it.

I’m going to the funeral to check out the scene. See who’s there.”

“I thought the service was private.”

“His wife told me about it.”

Shane narrows her eyes. “Well, pay my respects to the Grant family.”

They stare at the ground for some time. “Maybe you should come with me to the funeral,” Park says eventually, after Shane runs out of whiskey and starts chewing on the half-melted ice cubes.

Shane snorts. “Now why in Christ’s name would I do that?”

84 “Obviously the guy meant something to you. He was your former boss. Or something.”

Goosebumps ripple through Shane’s arm at Park’s last statement. She looks down at her forearms and sees the fine hairs standing on end. Maybe she finished her drink too fast and that’s why she suddenly feels heavy. “I don’t want to start anything,” she says, eyes still on her arms. “It’d be a good idea if I didn’t go.” She looks up and sees Park watching her. Irritation makes the goosebumps disappear, and she snaps back to attention. “Why do you care? You seem pretty insistent that I go.”

Park shifts in his seat. “Okay, honestly, I don't know shit about this scene.

Hawai‘i politics, all that bullshit, it’s not something that I understand very well.”

Shane’s brow furrows. Is Park serious? “You’re a private detective. Don’t you have the expertise to identify these people?”

“Sure, but you have insider knowledge. You might be able to notice something that I don’t.”

Shane stares at him, trying to read his face. He seems genuine enough, or is at least good at faking it. She still doesn’t understand why he would need her help. He already admitted that she was ruled out as a person of interest. “I thought you work alone. That’s what you told me the other day.”

Before Park can answer, Shane’s phone rings. Shane gets to her feet and walks to her desk. She checks the caller ID. Jenna Shigetani.

“Girl,” Jenna says, in a hushed yet shrill voice, “I got it.”

“Got what?” Shane says, turning her back to Park.

85 “The Wright files. I made the mirror image and pulled the files from Kainoa’s computer.”

“Holy shit, that was fast.”

“Right when I got back to the office, Rianne called me with printer trouble. I was working on her office printer and I realized that Kainoa’s laptop looks exactly like another model that we have in Tech Support. I made up some bullshit about needing to get the supply cart, so I went back to the office and hid the spare laptop in the computer cart. The other office manager Susan was out sick, so when Rianne stepped out to use the bathroom, I was alone and I managed to swap out Kainoa’s laptop with the other computer. She didn’t even notice. It didn’t take too long to create the image.” Jenna lets out a giggle. “I guess I had the perfect opportunity.”

Shane grits her teeth to keep from exclaiming in excitement. “Okay, when can I get it from you?”

“Can you send Jackson to get the files? I have to stay a little late tonight.”

“No, he’s not here.”

Jenna pauses for a moment. “Oh, I know. Some of my coworkers are going to

Kainoa’s funeral. I think they’re walking over now. I’ll ask Chad to meet you there and give you the files. I put them on a flash drive. You remember Chad, right?”

“Yeah, I remember him. Thanks, Jenna.”

“No problem, girl.”

Shane hangs up and turns towards Park. He’s fiddling with his phone, pretending not to have listened in on her conversation. At first she wants to tell him about the files,

86 but decides against it. She can inform him later. “Well, Detective Park,” she says as he looks up at her and raises an eyebrow. “Looks like I’m going to the funeral after all.”

87 CHAPTER 5

Park walks behind Shane from the Hosoi back parking lot towards the entrance to the mortuary, which is located off Nu‘uanu Avenue, where Chinatown meets suburban

Honolulu. At first, based on the complete silence of the car ride, he assumed that Shane would be reluctant to get there, but he changed his mind when Shane opened the passenger-side door before he parked. Up ahead, Shane’s thin body is dressed in a modest, yet, form-fitting dark gray sleeveless dress. Her hair tied into a neat bun. She carries a small black rectangular purse in her hands. Even though the sun has set, large sunglasses hide half of her face. She’s unrecognizable as the person who was staring at him and slurping down whiskey in the office.

The streetlights cast an orange glow on the blacktop. Outside the mortuary, a large group of people in aloha or business attire are congregated in the walkways, waiting to enter the parlor and pay their respects. Some people carry sympathy card envelopes in their hands. This isn’t going to be a private funeral. Park recognizes some of them from his visit to the Capitol. He sees Shane walking towards the front of the walkway, peering through the crowd as if in search of someone. He strides up next to her and grabs her elbow.

“Where are you going?” he says close to her ear.

Shane tugs her arm from his grip. “I’m meeting someone. Give me a minute.”

They reach the end of the line, and Shane approaches a kid in his mid-twenties, awkwardly dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. Shane taps his shoulder and he stares at her, confusion spread on his face, until Shane takes off her sunglasses. She says hi after

88 the kid recognizes her face, they exchange a few words, and then she accepts a flash drive from him. Park watches closely as Shane drops the flash drive into her purse.

“Tell Jenna thanks for me,” she says, putting her sunglasses back on.

The kid nods. “I’ll let her know.”

Park takes note of the name “Jenna.” He’s about to suggest that they wait in line,

but without word, Shane walks towards the thick of the crowd. Park takes a deep breath

as they maneuver towards the front of the line. The glass doors to the parlor are closed, but the curtains are open, allowing a view inside. Park watches as Shane moves closer to the glass and peers into the room. He squeezes next to her and looks into the parlor.

The funeral must have just ended. Rows of chairs line the room. Visitors dressed in dark and muted colors stand around the room. On top of an altar at the front of the room sits a bronze-colored urn, which rests next to Senator Grant’s Legislative portrait.

A maile lei is draped over the picture frame. Park recognizes some representatives and senators, even city councilmembers, along with elected officials such as Governor

Abercrombie and Mayor Peter Carlisle. At the front row on the side closest to the windows, a little hapa boy is seated on a chair next to Mrs. Wong, who looks like an elder and even more elegant version of her daughter. She’s carrying a sleeping toddler in her arms. Standing towards the line and shaking the hands of elected officials is a tall silver-haired white man. The Honorable Milton Grant. Milton talks closely with these people, smiling warmly, laughing at jokes, as if he’s done this dozens of times. He is a commanding presence, the focus of the room.

A fortyish-year-old man who bears a strong resemblance to Kainoa and Milton

Grant walks to the front of the room and taps a young woman on the shoulder. He

89 whispers in her ear and they both turn to look at the crowd. Park recognizes them

immediately. It’s Kainoa Grant’s older brother Jeremy, and the widow, Christine.

Christine is wearing a fitted black dress. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face. She holds a balled up tissue in her hand, although her eyes are clear and free of

redness. She scans the crowd slowly, probably recognizing faces, politely smiling,

acknowledging these people who came to see her husband. Then, she stares in Park’s

direction, but not at him. Instead, her eyes are on the person standing in front of him.

Park sees the muscles in Shane’s jaw tighten.

Suddenly Shane turns around and tries to leave, but she bumps into Park,

knocking him off balance. He catches himself from falling backwards. His hands

suddenly grab onto her shoulders, and she looks up at him from behind her glasses. He

sees an off-colored line where a few tears ran down her face and gathered at her chin.

Shane raises the back of her hand and wipes the tears away. Park lets go of her shoulders

and follows her through the crowd and onto a vacant space in the walkway.

As Shane passes by, Park watches as a few people in the crowd do a double take

as she walks by them. From the various chatter in the crowd, Park realizes that some of

these people are probably Capitol staff. Shane is already at the parking lot, but Park

slows when he notices a young woman with large eyes staring at Shane as she approaches

the mortuary. The young woman’s petite body is dressed in a white dress shirt tucked into a tight black skirt. Shane doesn’t notice her and keeps walking. The woman looks at

Park as he follows Shane. Park stares into her wide eyes, which are framed by long lashes, and he suddenly wants to stop. He feels the urge to walk over to her, talk to her.

He snaps his head forward to look away from her gaze.

90 Shane stops when she reaches the car. The evidence of the tears is long gone.

She looks towards Chinatown and then looks back at Park. “Have fun at the funeral,” she says, clearing her throat. “I’m gonna walk home.”

Park shakes his head. “I’ll drive you.”

“It’s a short walk.”

“Doesn’t seem safe.”

“Christ, I thought you were observing the funeral.”

A feeling of uneasiness fills Park’s stomach. He doesn’t know why, but

something is telling him that she shouldn’t be left alone. “I can come back,” he says as

he unlocks the car. He looks at Shane, who remains standing next to the car, arms folded

in front of her chest. Shane slowly removes her sunglasses. She’s not staring at Park.

She’s looking behind him. Park turns around, and he sees someone walking towards

them. At first, in the dim parking lot, the person’s face isn’t visible. After a couple steps,

the figure of a woman appears when she walks under a street light. Park immediately

recognizes her face.

It’s Christine Grant.

Shane never cries. She can’t even remember the last time that she shed a tear.

One of the reasons why Shane never cries is because it fucks up her sinuses. The tears mess up her nose and make it runny for hours, until it finally dries up and clears her

breathing. Her eyes turn red and glassy. She gets a pounding headache. It’s almost as if

crying makes her sick, like an allergy attack. At least that’s the explanation she would

91 give to ex-boyfriends after a blow-up fight, or to her girl friends after watching a

depressing movie, when they would question her lack of sobbing. The real reason why

Shane doesn’t cry, or at least tries not to, is because it’s a sign of weakness. It shows that

someone can get hurt. It shows pain. It shows suffering.

Shane doesn’t know why the tears appeared as she looked into the funeral parlor.

Maybe it was the sight of Kainoa’s urn. Maybe it was the thought of his children not

having a father. Maybe it was from seeing those who came to pay their respects to him.

At least that’s what she thought initially, but now as Christine walks towards her, Shane knows what caused her tears. It was the look of recognition in Christine’s eyes. In that moment, when Kainoa’s widow locked onto her from the other side of the glass, something inside of Shane broke. She hoped to get the files while getting out of there

unscathed and unnoticed. But that didn’t happen.

Shane’s stomach drops when Christine, the same expression of recognition on her

face, reaches her. Christine stands next to Park’s car, oblivious that her hired detective is

there. For a moment she and Shane stand in front of each other, completely silent. Shane

braces for what Christine might say: What are you doing here? What do you want? How

could you be here after saying such awful things about my husband?

At first Shane keeps her sunglasses on, as if she’s wearing a shield that no one can

penetrate. But she’s already been recognized. She’s sure that Christine saw the tears on

Shane’s face. Shane lets out a slow breath, removes the glasses, and puts them in her

clutch. She looks down at the flash drive, as if to ensure that it’s still there, and then

closes her bag. She opens her mouth, about to give her condolences, but before she can say anything, Christine throws her arms around Shane. Shane takes a staggered step back

92 so that she doesn’t fall. She slowly hugs Christine, even though she wants to rip herself from the woman, from the arms that held Kainoa every night. She wants to sprint back to her apartment.

“It’s good to see you, Shane,” Christine says softly. Her gardenia-scented perfume makes Shane’s head spin. Kainoa’s favorite flower.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Shane says, finally pulling away from Christine. She takes a deep breath to free the gardenia smell from inside her head. Shane’s hands are trembling, and she tightens her grip on her clutch before she drops it.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Shane lowers her eyes to look at Christine. Immediately she thinks about when they first met. She thinks about when Kainoa told her about buying a ring for Christine, who was about to make partner at her firm, and that he and Shane were over. Her stomach drops again, and Shane folds her arms in front of her chest. “How is your family managing everything?”

“It’s hard, but luckily I have my mom to help me with the kids. Jeremy is staying in Hawai‘i for a bit before he goes back to the mainland. He wants to be around Wessie and Wendy. That’s what Kainoa would’ve wanted, I think.”

Shane nods, unsure of what else to say.

“He spoke highly of you,” Christine says as she runs a hand over her middle.

“Even before the day that he, well, you know…he always said that you were the best office manager he ever had.”

93 “Well,” Shane says, shifting her weight from one leg to another, “at least I was good at something.” She hears a cough and looks behind Christine and at Park, briefly.

She had forgotten that he was standing there.

Christine turns and her eyes widen when she sees Park. “Oh, Detective Park?

How are you?”

“I’m good, Christine. My condolences…”

“Thank you,” Christine says, glancing between Park and Shane. “Do you, um, know each other?”

Park opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say a word, Shane interjects.

“We’re working together,” she says, throwing a glance at the detective.

Christine narrows her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, he’s helping me with a case. I opened my own practice last year. How do you two know each other?”

Christine looks back at Park and Shane. “He’s…also helping me with something,” she says, her eyes lingering on Park, whose lips are pressed into something that resembles a grin.

“Oh, funny,” Shane says with a forced smile. “Small island, I guess.”

Park shrugs. “Yeah, small island indeed...”

Before Christine can say anything, a small voice interrupts them. “Mommy?”

Shane looks up and sees a little girl balanced on the hip of a silver-haired Kainoa.

After a few seconds, she realizes that the man isn’t Kainoa. He’s too old, too haole- looking.

94 “Milton Grant,” he says, using his free hand to shake hands with Park. “Kainoa’s father.” He turns towards Shane and extends his hand.

Shane looks at his outreached hand and shakes it firmly. Her knuckles ache from

Milton’s grip. “Shane Nohara,” she says, looking into his eyes, which are the eyes he passed down to his son. Before she can say her relation to Kainoa, Christine cuts her off.

“She used to work for Kainoa,” Christine says, her eyes narrowing again as she looks at her father-in-law. “Briefly. When he was a representative.”

“Oh, I see,” Milton says, staring at Shane’s face. “I was wondering why you looked familiar. You must have helped my son campaign a few times.”

Shane nods. “Yes, that’s probably—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation,” Milton says before Shane can finish.

“But Wendy was asking for her mommy.”

Christine sighs and then takes her daughter from Milton. She kisses the toddler on her round cheek. “Thanks, Pop,” she says quietly, pushing her daughter’s hair to the side of her forehead.

Shane’s chest aches as she watches Wendy wrap her arms around her mother’s neck and buries her face in Christine’s shoulder. Shane feels her eyes stinging, and her sight of Wendy threatens to blur with tears. Instead, she looks at Milton, who stays at

Christine’s side, and wonders why he is still here.

“I’m sure that whatever business you were discussing can wait until later,” Milton says to Park and Shane. “It’s my son’s funeral, and his wife needs to tend to our guests.”

“Sure, no problem,” Park says. “Sorry to bother you.”

95 Christine clears her throat and looks at Shane, eyes still narrowed. “I just wanted to say hi, Shane. Thank you for coming. My husband would have appreciated it, after all these years.”

“Yes, thank you for coming,” Milton says, as they turn towards the funeral parlor.

Shane watches as Christine says goodbye to Park and walks back to the funeral with her father-in-law and daughter, their figures getting smaller and smaller until they reach the crowd inside. She sees Christine reach her son, who clings to his mother’s side.

Shane lets out a large breath, closes her eyes, and rubs her temples with her index fingers.

“Helping you with a case?” Park exclaims when the family is out of earshot.

“Really? You know that she hired me, right?”

Shane shrugs. “Whatever. Relax, I just got a lead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” Shane says, walking to the passenger side door. She suddenly remembers that she needs to get home to check the files. “Anyway, that was a little dramatic for one night. Can you unlock the door? I’d like to go home.”

“Christ,” Park mutters as he unlocks the doors and gets into the car. He starts the engine and puts the car in drive before Shane buckles her seat belt. “Case almost compromised. Fucking ridiculous.”

“Will you relax?” Shane says, rolling her eyes. “I had to go to the funeral anyway because I needed to get files from Jenna.”

“Who the hell is Jenna?”

96 Shane smiles at Park’s irritation. “She’s one of my friends from the Capitol. She made a copy of Kainoa’s computer and pulled some files for me. I think it might be a lead. We can look over them now.”

Park drives towards the parking lot exit. “Fine,” he sighs. “Let’s get a computer.

We’ll go to my office.”

“No thanks,” Shane says, pointing to her clutch. “My files, so my home court.”

Park shakes his head. “What have I gotten myself into?” he mutters.

“You have no idea.”

Shane clicks her mouse to view the different files. The flash drive contains multiple PDF files of blueprints and landscape plans in Portlock Point, the highest point of the mountain that overlooks the ocean. The file contains a design of multiple bungalows on a property. Another file contains the design scheme for the individual bungalows, each of them upscale and expensive-looking. Each building overlooks the water to provide a perfect view of sunrises and sunsets. Green lawns, koi ponds, and different trees and shrubs surround the bungalows, which, based on one design providing a birds-eye view of the estate, are arranged in the shape of a half-flower. In the bottom right corner of each PDF is a “WH” logo.

“Is that the new rental property?” Park asks as he pulls up Jackson’s desk chair next to Shane and peers at the screen.

Shane clicks back and forth between the different windows. “I guess so. I think this is the development that was protested last year.” She opens an Internet browser and

97 types in a website address. “I swear Kainoa was against this development since the beginning.”

In a few seconds, Kainoa Grant’s “Senator Kainoa Grant for Hawai‘i” campaign website loads. The homepage consists of a waist-up image of a smiling Kainoa, dressed in a cheery, yellow-and-green Manuheali‘i aloha shirt, standing along the Hawai‘i Kai coastline. The website has links to various categories, such as a biography of Kainoa, a campaign donation section, and a listing of district issues. Shane clicks on the district issues link. The first issue listed on the page is “Save Hawai‘i Kai – Stop New Resort.”

As soon as the page loads, a video clip of Kainoa, which appears to be cut from an interview he gave for a local news station, starts playing.

The voice of news reporter Sheena Murakami narrates over scenes of a neighborhood meeting. “Many Hawai‘i Kai residents are protesting of a new vacation rental development in Portlock. The resort, an affiliate of the Wright Hôtelier Group, will start construction in the Portlock Point area in the beginning of the year. Residents and elected officials attended a recent Hawai‘i Kai neighborhood board meeting to voice their concerns.”

After voice over ends, the clip cuts to an elderly Chinese woman, who is a resident of Hawai‘i Kai. “I don’t see how they are able to build these vacation rentals in my neighborhood,” the woman says firmly, shaking her head of silvery hair. “Even if the structure looks like a home, it doesn’t seem right. I don’t know who approved this. I’m grateful that Senator Grant created the petition to stop those terrible rentals from being built.”

98 The clip then cuts to Kainoa standing in a corner the Haha‘ione Elementary

School cafeteria, apparently after the meeting. “Portlock has always been a strictly residential neighborhood in the Hawai‘i Kai area,” he says, a purple orchid lei around his neck. “One of the great and unique aspects of our district is that its residents can enjoy the luxury of the Hawai‘i Kai and Portlock coastline privately without any commercialization or impact from the tourist industry. It’s in the best interests of the district that these rentals not be constructed. I’m hoping that this petition signed by

Hawai‘i Kai residents will stop this problem in its tracks.”

“The Wright Hôtelier Group believes that these new vacation rentals will be beneficial to Hawai‘i’s economy,” Murakami’s voice says, as the clip cuts to a haole man in his early forties, who, according to the caption, is Joshua Wright. “Portlock Point is the perfect location for our newest vacation destination,” says Wright, who dressed in a sleek business suit, stands in the school parking lot. “Not only will this resort provide new employment opportunities for residents, it will also increase the value of the Portlock area.”

Shane stops the video. “Joshua Wright,” she murmurs as she grabs the emails she printed from Kainoa’s account. There was his name, right there on the email. “He’s the one who sent Kainoa these files.”

Park has been scribbling notes on a piece of scratch paper. He takes the printed email from Shane’s hands and looks it over. “Why would this guy send files to Grant?

Didn’t Grant say that he opposed the development? Wait—how did you get this?”

“I don’t know what Kainoa had to do with these files,” Shane says, getting to her feet. “It’s pretty obvious that he didn’t support this development at all.” She walks to

99 her bed area, out of view from Park, and unzips her dress. As she changes into a t-shirt and jeans, she thinks back to her column, about one of her stories that focused on

Kainoa’s reaction to the purchase of homes in Portlock. Several years ago, an extremely wealthy Japanese billionaire by the name of Hiroyuki Nakamatsu purchased about a dozen homes in Portlock Point. He had taken advantage of a downward economy and bought out these homes from their owners, many of who were in the process of selling their homes or declaring bankruptcy.

Shane walks to her bookshelf and searches for the album of newspaper clippings that Jackson put together for her. “Remember that Japanese business man who bought all those homes in Portlock a few years ago?” she asks as she pulls the album from the shelf.

“Kawamoto?”

“No, not him,” Shane says as she flips the pages, looking for the column. She finds the article, then hands the book to Park. “Genhiro Kawamoto bought all those homes in Kahala and planned to turn them into affordable housing for Native Hawaiians.

The Portlock deal was conducted by this businessman is named Hiroyuki Nakamatsu. In

2009, he bought a bunch of homes at Portlock Point, pretty much clearing out that entire neighborhood. At first the press thought that Nakamatsu was a copy-cat of Kawamoto, but Nakamatsu never revealed what he was going to do with the properties. I remember

Kainoa was quiet about this to the press. I assumed that maybe it was because he was in his first term as senator and he didn’t want to make waves.”

“So, what does Nakamatsu have to do with this?” Park asks as he skims the article.

100 Shane clicks back to the bird’s-eye view of the design. “I think he sold these

properties to that Wright Group.”

Park closes the book and places it on Shane’s desk. “What I don’t understand,

though, is how this development was approved in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Park says, “I thought that in Hawai‘i, residential properties and

commercial properties are classified differently or something. Aren’t there particular

laws that prevent commercial properties from being built anywhere?”

Shane closes her eyes as she thinks about Park’s question. She thinks back to her law school days, back when she studied laws specific to Hawai‘i. Park has a point.

There are limits to where commercial properties can be built. Residential areas have precedence, as the people of Hawai‘i have rights to the resources. And that resource is highly coveted.

Her eyes fly open. “Water rights.”

“What?” Park says as he studies one of the design schemes. “What about water?”

“We live on an island with limited resources. Aside from land, fresh water is a hot commodity here in Hawai‘i. For years, many businesses, like sugar plantations, tried to privatize water for their own benefit. The State realized that water belongs to the land and to the people, so the State established water as a public trust. By law, purpose of the trust is to ensure environmental protection, Native Hawaiian rights, and domestic uses for fresh water.”

Park leans back in his chair. “How do you know all of this?”

101 Shane pulls out a folder containing notes for a paper she wrote back in law school.

“I had to do research on water laws in Hawai‘i when I was in law school. Never thought

this shit would come in handy.”

“So the purpose of this water law is to ensure that the people of Hawai‘i have enough water?” Park asks, scribbling notes on his paper.

“Yes, essentially,” Shane says. “If I remember correctly, the State has an enforced water code that determines how much ground water can be used in a particular area. There’s a specific amount of water that can be accessed in an area, and most of it is

reserved for residential purposes. In order for developers to use water for private

commercial gain, they need to submit a justification to the State.”

Park stops writing and looks up at Shane. “I’m assuming that it must be difficult for a commercial vacation rental property to be built in a residential area, if there can only be a certain amount of water used in said residential area.”

“I believe so,” Shane says, nodding slowly. “So that means that the Water

Commission must have approved the development, even if the water code only allows a certain amount of water to be used.” She sits at her desk and pulls up the Commission of

Water Resource Management’s website. After searching the website, she finds the

Commission’s previous meeting agendas and materials, which are organized by year and

meeting date for the past ten years. She frowns as she looks at the previous years

submittals, which are arranged by the dozen per year.

Park sighs as he stares at the screen. “It’s going to take a while to find out when

the Wright Group submitted their proposal to the commission.”

102 “Right,” Shane murmurs. She snaps her fingers when she thinks of the perfect person to read the proposals. “I’ll have my intern read through them tomorrow.”

“No, we don’t have time for a kid to read all of that,” Park says. He stands, notes in hand. “Look, I’ll look through the proposals when I get back to my office. I’ll let you know when I find anything.”

“Fine, get back to me,” Shane replies, following him to the front door. After a few beats of silence, she takes a deep breath. “So I accept your proposition.”

“What proposition?”

“Partnership,” Shane says. “I think we need each other to figure this thing out.”

She frowns at his raised eyebrows. “What? Do you want a handshake agreement or something?”

“Okay, fine, partners,” Park says as he opens the door and walks down the stairs.

“Come to think of it, now that we found these files, we’ll probably need each other’s help anyway. I have a feeling that this is going to be bigger than we think it is.”

“Right,” Shane says, rolling her eyes as she leans against the doorway.

“Whatever you say.”

Park places his hand on the knob, then turns around to look at her. “Hey, does this door lock automatically?”

“The building manager always locks the entrance at six in the evening. The door can only open from the inside.”

“That’s good,” Park says as he opens the door. The sounds of Chinatown fill the hallway. “Wouldn’t want someone paying you a surprise visit tonight.” The door clicks closed behind him

103 The hallway is quiet once the door closes. Shane turns to go back into her apartment, but pauses when she thinks about the building door. A chill runs through her

and she bounds down the stairs, her bare feet pounding on the wood. She double-checks

the lock on the door anyway, and races upstairs. The click of the loft’s deadbolt echoes

in the empty hall.

104 CHAPTER 6 FRIDAY

It takes a while for Shane to fall asleep that night. She spends what feels like hours lying on the bed, thinking about the rental property and its connection to Kainoa.

Somehow he was involved with the development, even if he opposed it. Was that what

Kainoa wanted her to know? Sometime after midnight, she finally falls asleep, but wakes up again when something buzzes somewhere on the bed.

Shane opens her eyes and stares at the dark ceiling, then buries her face into her pillow. When she realizes that it’s her cell phone buzzing, she sits up, rubs her eyes, and looks for her phone among the sheets and blankets. Her black clutch purse is at the foot of her bed, where she tossed it last night after pulling out the flash drive. She opens the bag and pulls out her phone. “Hello?” she murmurs.

“Are you still sleeping?”

Shane frowns at the sound of Park’s voice and looks at her clock. “No shit,” she yawns. “It’s six-thirty in the morning.”

“Well, wake your ass up. I found something. Meet me at Bishop Square in an hour.”

At seven-thirty, Shane trudges through the windy morning towards Bishop

Square. The murky air is now clear as the tradewinds blow the vog out towards the ocean. The wind whips through the loose knit in her gray sweater, cutting through her thin white t-shirt to her skin. A chill causes her to pull her sweater around her body. She ties her hair in a knot to keep it from flying around her face, which is partially covered by her large sunglasses. It’s early, but cars are already creeping down Bishop Street, inching

105 forwards towards downtown’s parking garages. Pedestrians dressed in Aloha shirts and slacks, or pressed business attire, walk from bus stops and coffee shops towards the high- rise buildings. Shane remembers those days, when she used to be up before the morning sun, pulling on slacks and button-up blouses, walking from her loft towards the Capitol.

She feels a pang in her chest as she thinks of how most of her business attire goes untouched, except for when she meets clients.

Shane crosses Bishop Street and walks towards Bishop Square, the courtyard in front of Pauahi Tower and its adjacent building, the American Savings Bank Tower. She bounds down the wide stairs towards the fountain in the center of the courtyard. She stares at the obsidian-colored, abstract form statue in the center of the fountain. The statue is a torso without arms, just a head, shoulders, and thighs.

Park is seated on a bench facing the statue, his dress shirt and slacks blending in with the downtowners walking to their desk jobs. “Good morning,” he tells Shane when she reaches him.

“Christ, are you always up this early?” she grumbles, staring at Park and walking towards the smell of freshly brewed Kona coffee. “I need coffee right now.” She walks to the American Savings Bank lobby, where Honolulu Coffee Company is located on the first floor. As she stands in line, Park waits outside the door.

“Small coffee please,” Shane says to the barista, a girl who is young enough to be one of Jackson’s classmates at HPU. “And a bagel with cream cheese.”

The barista grabs a disposable coffee cup. “Room for cream and sugar?”

Shane shakes her head. “No need. I drink it black.”

106 Once Shane gets her breakfast, she passes the line and glances at the patrons behind her, each of them waiting to get their coffee. She notices someone staring at her, but instead of stopping to look, Shane ignores the person and exits the coffee shop to meet Park, who is seated at one of the coffee shop’s tables. She takes a seat and digs into her food. “What’d you find?” she asks as she sips her Kona coffee, which immediately perks her up.

“So I found the Water Commission’s vote in favor for the Wright development,”

Park says, pulling a folded square of paper from his shirt pocket. He unfolds the pages to reveal the agenda for the Water Commission’s hearing. “It happened a few years ago, so

I didn’t have to look very far. They voted five to one.”

Shane skims the document until she finds the votes. There are seven individuals named: Roger Fernandez, Chairperson of Department of Land and Natural Resources;

Carter Preston, the Head of State Department of Health; Leina‘ala Sullivan; Beryl

Kawakami; Richard Sakamoto; Channing Wong. The last name on the list stops her reading. She tries to remember where she heard that name, but nothing comes to her.

“The last name sounds so familiar,” Shane groans. “I don’t know why, but it does. This is driving me crazy.”

“Well, the only one who voted against the ruling was Leina‘ala Sullivan,” Park says. “Funny that she was the only ‘no’ vote, especially since the water code prohibits excess water usage in that area.”

Shane nods slowly. “Maybe we need to ask Leina‘ala why she voted against the development. She must have had good reason.” At that moment, someone approaches the table and stands next to Shane. Shane looks up just as she puts her coffee cup to her

107 lips, and finds herself looking up at the heavily mascara-emphasized eyes of Rianne

Watanabe-Reyes.

Rianne, dressed in a tight waist-high skirt and a sleeveless blouse, stands in front of their table. There’s a large coffee cup in her slender hand, a designer handbag hanging from the crook of her elbow and a gym bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hey Shane,” Rianne says. The girl shifts her weight uneasily, as if she’s trying to find her balance in her five-inch, black patent-leather stilettos.

At first Shane is surprised to see her, but the expression of surprise on her face is immediately erased and replaced with irritation when she thinks of what Rianne said to her that afternoon at the Capitol. Shane doesn’t remove her sunglasses or stand up for a hug. Instead, she remains seated, puts her cup on the table, and stares through her dark lenses. After a few seconds, she says, “Hello.”

Rianne gestures her cup towards the coffee shop. “I was behind you in line. I’m on my way to the office from the gym.” She bites her bottom lip softly, as if she’s determining her next move. When Shane doesn’t respond, she looks at Park and smiles.

“Hi, I’m Cherianne. I used to work for Shane like forever ago.”

Park shakes her hand briefly. “Russ Park. Nice to meet you.”

“So, Shane, I saw you at the funeral last night,” Rianne says, her voice a bit shaky. “I don’t think you saw me. You walked by like so fast.”

“I thought I’d pay my respects,” Shane says, taking a sip of her coffee.

Rianne nods. “Kainoa really was a good person. After my lobbying contract ended with Mālama Kai, I was out of a job, so Kainoa offered me a position. You know,

108 he always wants to take care of people who he liked.” Her eyes become glassy, as tears start to well in her eyes.

Shane narrows her eyes when she hears Rianne’s comment. Something gnaws and picks at her, and she can feel her temper rising. She’s unsure if Rianne is hinting at something, or if Shane herself is misinterpreting, but she wants the girl out of her sight.

“So I heard that you were at the Capitol again yesterday,” Rianne says, dabbing at the inner corners of her eyes with her ring finger. “You visited Perry or something?”

“Yes,” Shane says. She had a hunch that Perry would blab. She wonders if Perry told Rianne the details of their conversation. “I ran into Perry when I was leaving the

Capitol, after having lunch with a friend.”

“I see,” Rianne says slowly.

Shane nods. “Okay, well, I’m sorry to cut this short, but we’re meeting about something really important.”

“Oh, sorry,” Rianne says, glancing at the papers on the table. She shifts her weight from one leg to the next. “I better get going anyway. It was good seeing you,

Shane. Like for real.”

Shane nods and doesn’t get up to hug Rianne, even though the girl looks in need of one. She says goodbye and watches Rianne walk towards the direction of the Capitol.

“She drives me crazy,” she murmurs as she shakes her head and looks back at the documents.

“Former employee, huh?” Park says as he raises his eyebrows and watches

Rianne walk away. “Maybe I should’ve gone into politics.”

109 Shane resists the urge to punch him in the arm. “Christ, can you put your tongue back in your mouth?”

“You didn’t seem excited to see her.”

Shane rolls her eyes. “She’s an idiot,” she says. “I wanted to fire her dozens of times but my committee clerk Jerald always convinced me to give her another chance.

Anyway, before we were interrupted, I think we need to hit up Leina‘ala Sullivan to

discuss this vote.”

Park pulls out a notebook and flips to his notes. “I looked her up online. She’s at

the university. Researcher with the Water Resources Research Center and professor in

the Economics department.”

“I don’t think we can just barge into a professor’s office and ask her questions

about her tenure at the water department,” Shane says. She pulls out her cell phone and

starts scrolling through her contact list.

“What are you doing?” Park asks, ripping off a piece of Shane’s bagel.

Shane looks through her contacts. “Calling one of my former law school

professors. She’s the professor who taught me about the water laws. Hopefully she

knows Sullivan or something.” She finds the name that she’s looking for and calls the

number. After a few rings, a voicemail recording comes on.

“You have reached voicemail for Helen Ho‘okano-Pilares. Please leave a

message and I will return your call.”

Shane leaves a message asking for Helen to call her back. After she gets off the

call, she looks at Park. “Want to go back to school?”

110

Shane parks her car off a residential side street in Mānoa, a few blocks from the

university. Since classes are in session, the parking at the university parking structure is

scarce and expensive as hell. It’s always easier to find street parking, and hope that there

are spaces available on side streets. They cross University Avenue and walk towards campus, the ground wet with morning rainfall. Park grumbles about walking on the wet grass in his slacks, but Shane ignores him, even though she can feel the ankles of her jeans dampen. Students with headphones over their ears or smartphones in their hands carry backpacks filled with textbooks on their way to class. Some kids zip by on bikes or skateboards.

“Any idea where we’re going?” Park asks as they walk onto main campus.

“Campus has sure changed since I’ve been in college,” Shane says with a shrug.

“I haven’t been here since I graduated from Richardson.” She sees a female student sitting on a bench along the sidewalk and approaches her. “Sorry to interrupt your texting, but could is the Economics department still located in Saunders Hall?”

The Asian girl, probably a freshman, looks up from her expensive phone and at

Shane, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, sorry,” she says, flipping her long hair over her shoulder and looking back at her phone.

Shane grits her teeth and looks towards Park, who is grinning from cheek-to- cheek. She throws up her arms and walks a few steps from the girl, who pretends to ignore Shane. Good for nuthin’ kids,” she says under her breath as she and Park walk away. “I think the Econ. Department is in the same building as my major, Political

Science. We have to walk towards the top of campus, past Hawai‘i Hall.”

111 Park lets out a snort. “I’m sure you were a pain in the ass back then.”

“No way. I had to bust my ass to go to school. My pops wouldn’t pay for my

tuition, so I had to get scholarships. He paid for my sister Mattie though. She spent four years at UC-Berkeley, so when it was time for me to go to school, there was no money left in the college fund.”

“That’s unfortunate. I was at UCLA as a resident, so I can only imagine how much the tuition is for non-resident. I’d be pissed at my sister.”

“Tell me about it,” Shane says as she thinks about her sister. There were times when she thought that Mattie was the favorite child, especially since Mattie majored in

architecture, which was something responsible according to Baron Nohara. Their father

usually complained about Shane whenever he had a chance. “Whatevers. She’s my only

sister. Can’t be mad about it forever.”

After ten minutes, they make it to Saunders Hall. “I remember this place,” Shane

says as they approach the building. She looks up at the darker walls. “I used to have a

class here a while back. I completely forgot.”

They search the different offices until they find the office for Sullivan. Park

knocks on the door, and, after some time, tries the knob, but it’s locked. They head back towards the department’s classrooms, and see students filing out of a class. Park asks one of the students if they know a Professor Sullivan, and the kid points inside the classroom.

Shane peeks her head in the doorway and sees a woman at the front of the class, turning off a slideshow presentation projected onto a screen at the front of the room. The woman, who must be in her early sixties, is wearing khaki slacks and an emerald-colored

112 blouse, and her wavy grayish-brown hair is pulled back with a koa wood clip. Her face is slightly lined, her complexion tanned, probably from many afternoons at the beach.

Shane and Park wait until most of the students leave the room before entering.

The smell of the whiteboard pens and the old wooden desks send Shane back to her college years. “I’ll take the lead,” Park says to Shane as they enter the classroom. Shane frowns, but lets him walk ahead.

“Dr. Sullivan?”

Sullivan’s brown eyes look above her reading glasses and then back down at the computer. “You look too old to be my students,” she says as she turns off the projector and tucks a fountain pen behind her ear. “Can I help you?”

Park hands her one of his business cards. “Russ Park. I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions about your time on the Water Commission board. I’m looking into a development under construction in the Portlock area.”

Sullivan takes Park’s card and looks it over. Immediately she frowns. “I don’t talk about my time on the Water Commission,” she snaps, dropping the card on the desk.

“Or about the Portlock development.” Before Park can respond, Sullivan looks at Shane and her eyes narrow. “You look familiar. What’s your name?”

“Shane Nohara. I used to be a columnist.”

Sullivan grabs an economics textbook and a file folder. “That’s where I remember you from,” she says as she pushes through Shane and Park. Sullivan’s gold wristwatch scrapes Shane’s forearm as she passes by. “You used to write in the paper.

Well, if you’re looking for information, my answer is, ‘No comment.’” The professor

113 walks out of the room in a huff and leaves Shane and Park in the empty classroom, the clacking of Sullivan’s sandals echoes down the hall.

“That didn’t go very well,” Shane says. “Her tone sure changed when she saw your card.”

Park shrugs. “And when I mentioned Portlock. Maybe she’s hiding something.”

“If she is, it must be something juicy.”

They leave the building and head back towards the car. Shane shoves her hands in her pockets and trudges ahead, walking around the students on their way to class.

They head back towards University Avenue and wait at a nearby crosswalk. “So any ideas on what we should do next?” she asks. She taps her foot on the sidewalk as she waits for a slow car to drive past.

Park shrugs. “We could check out another person on the Water Commission board, but the others might not comment as to why Sullivan voted in opposition.”

“Worth a shot,” Shane says as they cross the street. “We’ll check out the file in the car.”

They walk back to the car and get the file from where Shane tossed it in the back seat. She skims the list. “Maybe we can talk to Beryl Kawakami or Richard Sakamoto.

Can you pull up their info on your phone?”

Park is already typing on his phone. “There’s a ton of Richard Sakamoto’s on the island.”

“Shit.”

“Well, Beryl Kawakami is an engineer with a firm in downtown. Maybe we should go to her office.”

114 Shane and Park get into the car, but just as Shane starts the engine, her phone

starts to ring. She quickly answers and hears the voice of Helen Ho‘okano-Pilares.

“Eh, Shane, you wen call me when I was in class,” Helen says warmly. “Sorry, I

only returning your call now. You need help with sumtin?”

Shane turns off the car. “No problem, Aunty Helen. Actually I get one question

for you. I’m on campus at da moment. You get time for me to stop by fast kine?”

“Yeah, I get a few hours before my next class. Come to da law school.”

After a walk across campus and crossing Dole Street, Shane leads Park to Helen’s

tiny office in the William S. Richardson Law School. She knocks on Helen’s door and

walks in. Helen, dressed in a white blouse and black pants, is seated at her small desk

and typing on her computer. She looks up at Shane and smiles. “Eh, Shane,” she says,

standing and giving Shane a long hug. Helen’s large, tall frame makes the office seem even smaller. “One of my best students finally comes to visit. How’s your practice?

You staying out of trouble or what?”

Helen was one of Shane’s favorite law professors, and even encouraged Shane to

keep on going when she wanted to give up after the first year. When Shane couldn’t find a job at a firm, Helen tried to pull strings as best she could. “Slow,” Shane says, making room for Park to enter the office. “No clients at da moment. Trying not to sweat it though. Dis is Russell Park, a colleague of mine.”

Helen looks Park up and down before extending a hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says cautiously, before sitting down. “How you guys know each other?”

“Work,” Park says. “I’m a private detective.”

115 “I see,” Helen says, slowly taking her eyes off of Park and looks at Shane, her

eyebrows raised at Park’s accent. “He from here or what?”

Shane clears her throat. “He’s from da, um, the mainland.”

“California,” Park says, “specifically.”

Helen nods slowly. “Well, take a seat, both of you. So what’d you need to talk to me about?”

“You know a Leina‘ala Sullivan?” Shane asks as they sit down.

“Yeah,” Helen says. “She’s one of my colleagues. We co-wrote one paper on water laws. What about her?”

“Well, I’m trying for get in touch wit her but no luck. I’m looking into a development on Oahu. She was a consultant.”

Helen scratches her head through her wavy dark brown hair. “You like me call

her up?” she asks, picking up her office phone.

“If can,” Shane says. “Don’t tell her my name though. Just say dat I’m one of your students.”

Helen purses her lips and then dials the extension. “Oh boy,” she mutters,

looking away from them. After a few seconds, she clears her throat. “Eh, Lei? Helen

calling. One of my students asked if she can get in touch wit you. She like ask you

someting about water laws…Yeah, she here now…Uh-huh…Okay, I tell her go by your

office den. Tanks.” Helen hangs up the phone and swivels her chair to face Shane and

Park. “She said come by her office now because she has a meeting in half an hour.”

“Awesome,” Shane says. “Tanks, Aunty.”

“Anyting for you, Shane. Eh, so what is dis development you talking about?”

116 “The new vacation rentals in Portlock,” Park says as he and Shane stand up.

“We’re curious about how the water proposal was passed.”

Helen leans back in her chair. “Hmm, well, Lei will be good to talk to about that.

She opposed the development from the beginning. Hard though, I guess, when other people no listen to you. But whatevas, you can ask her. You bettah get going.”

Shane reaches over the desk to hug Helen again. “Tanks again, Aunty Helen.”

Helen shakes her head at Shane. “No problem, kid. You bettah not do anyting crazy.”

Shane frowns for a moment, but tries to smile. As she and Park head back towards Saunders Hall, Helen’s parting words weigh on her mind. Helen’s and Jenna’s warnings were starting to sound similar, even though Shane knew that she wasn’t doing anything crazy. All she was doing was finding out what Kainoa was up to. What’s so crazy about that?

From the glare that Sullivan shoots at both of them when they approach her office, Park can tell that she’s not thrilled to see them. “Didn’t I tell you that I had no comment,” she spits, lifting her desk phone’s receiver. “I’m calling campus security.”

Before Park can respond, Shane steps into the doorway and holds up a hand, as if to stop Sullivan from making the call. “Wait, Dr. Sullivan, I’m a student of Aunty Helen

Ho‘okano-Pilares. Well, former student. She called about you meeting with us and you told her that we could come by.”

117 “We’d really appreciate if you could talk to us,” Park says, taking Shane’s lead.

He holds his breath, wondering if this will work. He feels the professor’s glare burning

into him, but he can’t take his eyes off the receiver in Sullivan’s hand. Slowly, after

some time, the receiver lowers back onto the cradle.

Sullivan lets out a sigh and waves them in. “Well, since you’re a student of

Helen’s, I guess I’ll have to listen to you. I’m gonna give Helen an earful when I see her

next.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sullivan,” Shane says as she and Park enter her office. It’s a

cramped office, similar to Helen’s office at the law school. “We really appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. I promise you that this won’t be in the paper.”

Sullivan shakes her head. “Yeah, yeah. You better hurry up because I have a meeting to attend soon.” She points towards Park. “Shut the door, will you?”

Park closes the door behind him and the office seems even smaller. There are framed pictures of different scenic areas around the island hanging on the walls. One of

the pictures contains Sullivan standing in a lava tube with Helen. A file cabinet in the

corner of the office is covered with activist bumper stickers: “Save da ‘Aina”, “Keep the

Country Country”, “Kuleana!” A bookshelf filled with books on water and Hawaiian

history is against one wall.

“We’re looking into the Wright development on the Hawai‘i Kai Coast,” Park

says, pulling out his notepad. “We noticed that when the development’s proposal came

up for vote at the Water Commission’s meeting a few years ago, you were the only vote

in opposition for the development. We were hoping that you could fill us in on your

position.”

118 Sullivan props her elbows on top of her desk and rests her chin on her hands.

“Why should I be telling you about this?”

“Well,” Shane says, “I have a feeling that this property shouldn’t be constructed

in the first place. The water code should restrict that type of development, right?”

Sullivan nods. “I see you studied water laws.”

“In law school, under Aunty Helen. I graduated from Richardson.”

“And you became a journalist?” Sullivan scoffs. “Quite a change in career paths.” She laughs when Shane shrugs her shoulders. “Anyway, yes, I did vote ‘no’ on the development. It’s completely illegal for vacation rentals to be constructed along the

Hawai‘i Kai coastline. The problem is that my colleagues on the Commission didn’t agree.”

“Why is that?” Park asks as he jots down the information.

“They were asked to disagree,” Sullivan says as she gets to her feet. She walks over to the file cabinet and opens one of the drawers. She pulls out a framed picture of her with two men. “That’s the problem with these issues. Sometimes people can be bought out.”

Park stops writing and glances at Shane, who is staring at the picture in Sullivan’s hands. “What do you mean?” Shane asks. “Someone paid these people for their votes?”

“Now I don’t want to talk bad about the Commission,” Sullivan says. She walks over and hands Park the photograph. “The people who they select are very intelligent individuals who are very knowledgeable about water resources in Hawai‘i. The problem is, though, that sometimes people can be appointed for other reasons, maybe to sway votes. That’s what I believe happened when I was there.”

119 Park looks down at the picture. The men in the picture with Sullivan are both wearing aloha shirts and slacks. They are standing in a drab office room, lei around their necks, a cake resting on a table next to them. One of the men is an older haole man, the other is a younger local Chinese man. The younger man, who is very tanned, looks familiar, but Park can’t place him. Park hands the picture to Shane, who stares at the photograph.

“At first the board was also in opposition with the development,” Sullivan says.

“Then one-by-one, they started to change their minds. I stood my ground and was dumbfounded by how they could believe that this was a good idea. A commercial development in a residential area? Ridiculous!”

“So what happened?” Park asks.

“One day, my colleague Channing, the young Chinese boy in that picture, came to see me here. He tried to convince me about how this development would be good for the economy, how it would be a change of scenery from Waikiki. He even told me that I could be rewarded for my vote, whatever that meant. I told him that I wouldn’t change my mind, which upset him very much. He was swearing at me, yelling about how I should just change my ‘fucking’ vote. It was ridiculous. He left before I could call security.”

Park raises an eyebrow. “So the rest of the Commission voted for the property? I can’t imagine how that would go through. How did that Channing guy get on the board anyway?”

“He was appointed,” Shane says. She looks up from the photo and at Sullivan.

“Am I right?”

120 Sullivan sits back down on her desk chair. “He was appointed by the Senate president. The guy with the Hawaiian name, the handsome one. I think he died recently.

Anyway, I didn’t call Channing out on what he did. When I look back on it, maybe I

should have, but I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe it was because my term was up

anyway. Maybe I didn’t want to make waves.” She looks out the window briefly, as if

lost in her thoughts.

“I think we have what we were looking for,” Park says, glancing at his watch.

“Thank you, Dr. Sullivan.”

Sullivan looks back at them and waves her hand. “Oh, I need to get ready for my

meeting. Now I better not hear about this in the press.”

Shane chuckles briefly. “Don’t worry about that. I’m not writing for the paper

anymore. You have my word.”

“Right,” Sullivan snorts. “Well, if you have any questions, feel free to give me a

call.”

Park follows Shane out of the building and onto campus. Once they’re out in the

open, Park looks for a spot where they can talk alone, without anyone listening in. They

walk towards a grassy area in between four buildings. “So Kainoa Grant appointed

Channing Wong to the Commission?” he says.

Shane’s brow is furrowed. “Actually, there’s more. Now I remember where I

heard his name before. It came to me when I was looking at the picture.” She stops and

folds her arms across her chest. “Channing Wong is Christine Grant’s older brother.”

121 Park pictures Christine’s face side-by-side with Channing Wong. He imagines the same narrow eyes, the same cheekbones, but that’s about it. “Is that why he looked

so familiar in the picture? He has some resemblance to his sister, but not a lot.”

“They’re half siblings from different marriages,” Shane says. “I think they have

the same father, but different mothers. I remember Kainoa telling me about it a few

times.”

“I don’t remember seeing Channing at the funeral.”

“Kainoa said that Channing and Christine aren’t close, but he would go surfing

with Channing sometimes.”

Park circles Channing’s name in his notes. “So Kainoa Grant appointed his

brother-in-law to the Water Commission, huh? But why would he appoint someone who

approved of a development that he opposed?”

Shane’s face goes cloudy and she looks to the side, at the ground. “Maybe

Kainoa was more involved after all.”

Park watches her face. He knows that look. It’s not the look of an employee

disillusioned by a former boss. It’s not the look of a friend realizing something negative

about another friend. It’s the look of rejection. It’s the look of someone hurt and in pain.

It’s the look of a lover scorned.

Before he can say anything, Park’s BlackBerry starts buzzing in his pants pocket.

He looks at the caller ID and recognizes Christine Grant’s cell phone number. He’s not

too surprised, since he figured that she would call sooner than later. He tells Shane that

he’s going to take the call. He walks a few feet out of earshot and answers the phone.

122 “Detective Park,” Christine says, her voice tense, “is there anything else you need to tell me since you provided the update yesterday afternoon?”

Park glances at Shane to see if she’s listening, but Shane is doing something on

her phone. “Good morning, Christine. I’m guessing that you’re referring to the funeral.”

“Yes, I am. I thought you said that Shane had no involvement with my husband

prior to his death. Why were you there with Shane?”

“As I mentioned yesterday, I talked to Miss Nohara and can confirm that she had

not heard from your late husband prior to his death. In fact, she has no idea why he tried

to contact her at all. Actually, at the moment I’m looking into something involving your

husband, which is why I need to be in contact with Miss Nohara.”

There’s a pause on the other end before Christine speaks again. “Exactly what are

you looking for?” she asks slowly. “Does it have to do with his death?”

“I can’t get into details at the moment, but I will fill you in as soon as I can,” Park

says. “In fact, I need to get going on a lead. I’ll contact you when I find out more

information. Thanks for calling.” He hangs up the phone before Mrs. Wong can reply.

“Who was that?” Shane asks as Park approaches.

Park puts his phone back in his pocket. “A client. Anyway, sorry for the

interruption. I think we need to find Channing Wong, although I’m not sure if he’s going

to talk.”

Shane holds up her phone. “I found his business address. Amazing what you can

find with a Google search these days. According to these search results, Channing works

for the non-profit Mālama Kai.”

123 Park recognizes the non-profit’s name as what Rianne said earlier. “Isn’t that where your former aide worked?”

Shane heads in the direction of the car. “Yep. And Channing is a co-founder of the non-profit with Kainoa Grant. Let’s get going.”

Park follows her back to the car, the two of them walking in silence. He thinks about his follow-up phone call with Christine the day before. She was in disbelief that

Shane had no contact with Senator Grant in years, but she wouldn’t specify why.

Obviously the wife was onto something, and it seemed like Shane could confirm that suspicion. He watches the profile of Shane’s face and can make out the same cloudy expression. He wants to ask her more about her relationship with Grant, but he decides to wait. Maybe in time, Shane will tell.

According to the non-profit’s website, Mālama Kai’s headquarters is located across from Ward Warehouse shopping plaza, in a row of warehouse lots usually leased by small local businesses. Shane pulls up to the lots and looks for the space listed as the non-profits’ address. They find the number, which is assigned to No Ka Oi Soap Factory.

After driving up and down the rows of warehouses, the office is nowhere to be found.

“What the hell,” Shane mutters, parking the car in front of some random business.

“They’re not here. Mālama Kai needs to update their fucking website.”

Park looks out the passenger window at the warehouse numbers. “Relax. Maybe we can call the office number.”

124 Shane pulls up the website on her phone and dials the phone number. After a few

rings, a voicemail recording comes on. Shane recognizes the voice as Rianne’s, and

cringes:

“Aloha, and mahalo for calling Mālama Kai. Please leave a message and we will get back to you. If you know your party’s extension, please enter it now.”

Shane leaves a message for Channing Wong to call her back. She leaves her name as Shane, but doesn’t say why she needs to speak to Wong. She hangs up the phone and looks at Park. “Well, now what?”

“Maybe we should get something to eat. Early lunch.”

Shane looks at the clock on her dashboard. It’s nearing eleven, and she’s already feeling faint hunger pangs. She thinks about the dining options at Ward, which are limited to some fast food places and other bland tourist-oriented eateries. Food catered to tourists is the last thing that she wants. She wants real local food. She puts the car into drive and heads back to Chinatown.

In twenty minutes, Shane and Park stand on the corner of Smith and North

Pauahi, in front of the Char Hung Sut manapua shop. Shane can smell the steamed manapua wafting out of the white cardboard pastry box, and wants to tear into the box and eat the manapua right there. Instead, her colleague suggests they eat on a bench lining the basketball court across the street. The sun is out and the wind died down since the morning. It’s starting to look like a nice day.

They cross Smith Street and walk towards the small community park. Usually in the afternoons and weekends, there are local kids playing a pickup basketball game, but this morning the park is empty. After they sit on a bench, Shane opens the box and hands

125 a fresh manapua to Park. Shane bites into the warm white bread of the manapua, which is slightly sweet and sticks to her teeth. She takes another bite filled with chopped pink

char siu. After she eats half the manapua, she peeks into the box and picks up a small

pork hash. She bites into half the dumpling and tastes the salty meat and the soft wonton

pi wrapper. Pork grease lingers on her fingertips.

They sit in silence for some time. Shane stares at the paved basketball court as

she eats. On the car ride over, they discussed their findings so far: the plans on Kainoa’s

computer, Kainoa appointing his brother-in-law to the Water Commission, the “no” vote

from Sullivan. Shane held her tongue for most of the ride, afraid that she would lash out

about Kainoa. She always had her differences with Kainoa’s method of handling politics

and she was vocal about it in her column, but this seemed different, almost shady. She

assumes that Park suspects that she has other motives as to finding out about this rental

thing. She knows that she doesn’t have to justify herself to him. In fact, she’s not sure as

to why she’s interested in this herself. Maybe she wants to find the truth.

“So,” Park says, interrupting her thoughts, “any ideas as to why Grant would allow his brother-in-law to vote in favor of the rentals?”

Shane shrugs, swallows her bite. “I don’t know. Kainoa was always passionate about the environment and the ocean, stuff like that. I mean, even when I worked for him, I know that he felt this connection to nature and surfing. I just don’t understand

why he would appoint Channing.”

“Maybe the brother-in-law was employed by the Wright company?”

“Doubt it,” Shane says. “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest? I have a feeling

that Kainoa thought that his brother-in-law could push his agenda for him. Maybe

126 Channing was supposed to prevent the rentals from being built, but instead went the other way.” She looks down at her second manapua, which she only took a few bites from.

The thought of Kainoa and his involvement in this Water Commission issue makes her hunger disappear. She looks away from the food and takes a few sips from her bottled water that Park purchased from the manapua shop. “I just can’t imagine Kainoa doing something like that.”

“Well, we’ll find out once we hear from Wong, although I doubt he’ll talk.”

Shane doesn’t want to admit that she agrees with him. She knows that Park’s right about Wong not wanting to talk. It’s still worth a shot anyway. “Maybe Channing is the ‘C’ referred to in the emails,” she says.

“But why would Grant want to talk to you about him?”

“Not sure,” Shane says. “Maybe he thought his brother-in-law was bad news.”

Her phone starts buzzing in her jeans pocket. She looks at the screen and sees Jenna calling her. She tells Park that she needs to take the call, then answers the phone.

“Holy shit, Shane,” Jenna says in a hushed voice. “Girl, you have no idea what I found on Kainoa’s computer.”

“What did you find?” Shane asks, sitting up straight. “Is it a part of the files that you sent me?”

“No, I just stumbled upon these last night. Yesterday I was fiddling around on

Kainoa’s laptop and I found these hidden files on the computer. Actually, I’m impressed that he was able to hide them. For someone who isn’t very tech savvy, it was out of sight.”

127 Shane’s brow furrows. Hidden folders? Kainoa would never have figured out

how to do that. “What do you mean?”

“He made a hidden folder named ‘System15’ and stashed it with the other system

folders on his computer. When I did a sweep of the system folders, the System15 caught

my eye, because it didn’t match up with the other folders.”

“You know that I don’t understand technical jargon, Jenna…”

“Sorry, tech talk. A System15 folder doesn’t exist. Anyway, I didn’t see the files earlier because they weren’t copied when I made the initial image. I managed to copy the files and I checked them out. Oh, girl, it’s way too good for me to tell you now. You need to see it in person. It’s insane.”

“Okay, when can I see them? Can you come by my loft?”

“Girl, I work late shift again tonight. I switched with my coworker so he could take his girlfriend out for her birthday. I can call you when I get off of work at nine. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Shane gets off the phone and smiles at Park, who looks back at her with a raised eyebrow. “My friend Jenna found more shit on Kainoa’s computer. She’s going to show me tonight.”

“You had your friend search for files on his computer?” Park asks, his voice rising slightly. “I thought you were staying out of that.”

Shane shrugs. “How do you think I got the rental plans? They didn’t magically appear out of nowhere.” She rolls his eyes at his angry expression. “What? Why you getting all habuteru for? Obviously looking around his computer was a good thing.”

“Christ,” Park mutters. “Well, if anyone finds out, you’re going down, not me.”

128 Shane opens her mouth to snap at him, as if private detectives are known for abiding by the rules, but she’s cut off when her phone starts buzzing again. She looks down at the number and realizes that it’s Mālama Kai. “Hello?” she says, in a soft, almost hopeful sounding, voice.

The voice on the other end sounds warm and smooth, yet sticky and clingy. “Hi there, this is Channing Wong of Mālama Kai calling. I have a message to return a call to a Shane?”

“Hi, this is Shane,” she says, glancing at Park, who leans forward to listen in.

“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Wong.”

“No problem. So your name is Shane, huh? Unusual name for a young lady.”

Shane frowns at the comment. “Yeah, well, my parents thought it was cute.

Anyway, I’m interested in becoming a volunteer for Mālama Kai. I’m a graduate student at UH, and I’d like to do some part-time volunteer work with your organization. Is it possible for me to come by to your headquarters and meet with you?”

“Um, sure,” Wong says slowly. “My calendar is open this afternoon, around one- thirty.”

“Works for me. Is your office still located at Ward? That’s what it says on the website.”

“Oh, um, we closed that office a while ago. I guess we need to update our website. Right now, our new offices are under construction, so I’ll have to meet you off- site. Does the Starbucks in Mānoa work for you?”

129 “Sure,” Shane says, glancing down at her wristwatch, “it’s close to campus. So

Starbucks in Mānoa at one-thirty. See you then!” She hangs up the phone and reclines against the bench. “Wow, that was easy. Talking to Channing sounds promising.”

Park stands and tosses the empty manapua box in the trash bin near the bench.

“Of course now you think you’re better at this than I am. Do you need back up? I can wait in the car while you meet with him.”

Shane gets to her feet. A ripple of excitement runs through her as she thinks of meeting with Wong. She wonders how much he’ll talk. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll call you once I find out any information.” She walks towards the direction of her car, which she parked on the street. “Do you want a lift?”

“No thanks,” Park says as he heads in the direction of downtown. “I’ll walk back to my office. It’s a nice day. Anyway, you should probably change.”

Shane looks down at her clothes and frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Park glances at Shane over his shoulder and smiles. “C’mon, rookie, you gotta look the part. Grad students can’t afford nice clothes.”

Almost every table in Starbucks is occupied when Shane steps through the door.

She looks around the coffee shop for a moment, scanning the crowd, which mostly consists of college students. Any excitement or adrenaline that was running through her body when she arrived is immediately replaced with dread. The blast of chilled air conditioning makes her shiver.

130 In the corner of the shop sits the same man in the photo in Sullivan’s office. He’s in his forties, tanned, medium build, with spiky black hair, and wears faded jeans and a vintage-print aloha shirt favored by surfers. Shane makes eye contact with him, and then walks over to the table. “Mr. Wong?” she says from behind her smile, trying to use the same voice she used on the phone.

Channing looks her up and down for a moment before he stands. The short denim cut-offs and loose t-shirt that she wore for the occasion must be convincing. He gives

Shane a weak handshake. A sharp, acidic cologne wafts from his shirt. The smell is familiar, and Shane recognizes the scent as an expensive designer brand that a wealthy college ex-boyfriend used to buy from Neiman Marcus.

“You can call me ‘Channing,’” he says when he straightens. “Shane, right?”

“Yes,” she answers him as she takes the seat across the table from his and places her handbag in her lap.

Channing keeps his eyes on her face as he sits down. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

Shane freezes, but shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. I just have one of those faces.”

Channing laughs, a bit too loudly. “Right, right. Sorry, my mistake.”

Shane wants to let out a sigh of relief, but instead brings up the non-profit. “So I read on the website that Mālama Kai is dedicated to marine and ocean environmental causes?”

“Yes, it is,” he says, leaning back in his chair and picking up his plastic refillable travel cup. He bears a slight resemblance to his half-sister. They both have the lush dark

131 hair, the narrow almond eyes. He’s not as good-looking, but he seems to think that he is.

“We try to encourage people to take an active stance on caring for the environment. We

schedule beach clean-ups, presentations at schools, lectures at UH. Why are you

interested in our organization?”

“Well,” Shane says, taking a deep breath and biting her lip, “I’m mostly interested

in being available for research opportunities with Mālama Kai. You know, looking at the

legal aspect of things. Maybe I could assist the lobbyists with looking up bills at the

Legislature.”

Channing nods slowly. “Wow, you seem to know a lot about the lobbying process. What are you getting your degree in?”

“Law.”

“My sister is a lawyer,” he says, eyebrows rising. “It’s a good profession. Maybe

I could introduce you sometime.”

Shane smiles at his offer to meet with Christine Grant. She thinks about that arrangement ever happening and has to grit her teeth to keep from laughing out loud.

“Sure, thanks.”

Channing’s face falls a bit. “Well, I appreciate your suggestion about the lobbying research, but right now we’re probably lessening our presence with the

Legislature. Our lobbyist took another job last year.”

Shane remembers Rianne was a lobbyist for Mālama Kai. She almost scoffs at the idea of helping her former aide. She presses her lips together to keep from snorting.

“Also,” Channing says, snapping Shane back to the present, “our co-founder, my brother-in-law, Kainoa Grant, well, he, you know…”

132 “Oh, right,” Shane says, nodding. “I heard about that. I didn’t know that he was your brother-in-law. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Channing shrugs. “Yeah, tragic.” He clears his throat and sips his drink.

“Anyway, so we won’t be approaching the Legislature at the moment. We could use your help in other areas though, if you’re interested. I was running shop out of my house in Mānoa, but we’ll be looking to expand our staff once the new offices are finished…”

He pauses and looks down at his large Rolex. “This afternoon, in fact.”

Shane perks up at the mentioning of the offices and larger staff. If the non-profit needs a larger staff, it must be an equally larger space. “Where are your new offices located?”

“Downtown, in the First Hawaiian Center. We’ve renovated an entire floor. It’s pretty nice.”

How can a non-profit afford to build a new office in that kind of location? “That sounds swanky,” Shane says. “It must be expensive to build there. You guys must get a lot of donations.”

Channing presses his lips together. “Yes,” he says tersely, “we do pretty well.

Luckily our accountant handles all of that.”

Shane makes a mental note about the accountant. “So tell me about how you started the non-profit,” she says, leaning forward. Now she really needs to butter him up.

“I’m sure you must be so passionate about it.”

“Well, I’m an avid surfer, and I really care about our oceans,” Channing says. He clasps his hands behind his head. “My brother-in-law felt the same way, so we decided to start the non-profit. Simple as that.”

133 “Didn’t Kainoa Grant represent Hawai‘i Kai?”

“Yes, he was the senator for Hawai‘i Kai.”

“As an environmentalist, how do you feel about the new development in

Portlock? Hasn’t it been criticized for ruining the beauty of the Hawai‘i Kai coastline?”

Channing narrows his eyes. “I think the development is good for business.”

“Uh huh,” Shane says, leaning back in her seat. “And weren’t you on the Water

Commission that allowed for its construction?”

“Wait a minute,” Wong says, pointing a finger at her. “I remember you now.

You’re Shane Nohara. You used to write for the paper.”

Shane knows that she can’t deny being recognized, but she figured that it

would’ve happened earlier. “Yup, I’m Shane—”

“And you used to work for Kainoa, right?”

Shane ignores him and keeps talking. “I’m looking into the new development in

Portlock, and your time on the Water Commission. How were you able to get everyone

to vote in favor? Wouldn’t that type of development be in violation of the water code?”

Channing stands, almost knocking his chair behind him. “I’m not answering any

of your questions,” he hisses, walking towards the door. “I’m getting the fuck out of

here.”

“Why, Channing?” Shane calls after him. “Do you have something to hide?”

Channing looks back at her one more time before pushing through the doors. He

almost knocks over two students, arms full of textbooks, approaching the entrance.

Through the glass windows, Shane watches as he runs across the street towards the parking lot of Mānoa Marketplace.

134 Shane ignores the college students and older patrons staring at her and walks out the back exit towards the parking lot. Once she steps outside, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a digital recorder. She presses “Stop,” rewinds the recorded conversation with Channing, then plays the recording back until she hears her voice. She turns off the recorder, drops it back into her bag, and gets into the car. She calls Park from her cell phone. “He didn’t talk,” she says when Park answers.

“I didn’t think he would, honestly,” Park says. “Did you find anything though?”

“He mentioned that Mālama Kai is building their new office in the First Hawaiian

Center. They’re renovating the entire floor.”

“How can a non-profit afford that?”

“Not sure,” Shane says as she starts her car. “He said that they get a lot of donations. He also said that they have an accountant who handles their finances.”

“I bet. Look, my cousin is an accountant. I’ll ask him to look into any of his contacts to find out who handles the books for them.”

Shane hangs up and pulls her car out of the driveway. She slows at the stop sign along East Mānoa Road. As she looks at the oncoming traffic in her land, glances across the street and sees Channing behind the wheel of a black Mercedes SUV. She grabs her sunglasses and puts them on her face quickly. She’s not sure if Channing saw her, but before she can find out, she pulls out onto the road and drives towards Honolulu. She looks in her rearview mirror to see if Channing is following her, then she lets out a sigh when the Mercedes drives towards Mānoa Valley.

135 CHAPTER 7

At nine-thirty that night, Shane sits in her sweatpants and a t-shirt at her desk, watches some videos online, and finishes up her dinner of take-out tofu pad thai. Her food is from a hole-in-the-wall Thai joint around the corner from her apartment. The food is tastes fine, but she goes to the restaurant because the owners are an older Thai couple that Shane got to know over the years. Sometimes they sneak in extra food such as a small container of curry or green papaya salad, with her take-out orders. Tonight, they slipped some sweet sticky rice and mango into her plastic take-out bag.

She swallows her last bite of the tangy-salty rice noodles, peanuts, and bean sprouts, and then digs into the rice and mango dessert. For the past few hours, she’s decided to take a break from everything and indulged in some television viewing online.

As she eats her dessert, she thinks about her meeting with Wong. On the drive back to downtown, she thought that the smell of his cologne would never leave her clothes. Even after she jumped in the shower when she got home, she thought that she could still smell the scent on her skin.

Her phone starts to ring as she’s eating her last bites of mango and rice. She looks at the screen and sees her older sister’s name. She puts down her fork and debates whether to answer the call. She knows that Mattie will probably give her shit about not replying to her email. After the fourth ring, she answers the call. “Mattie, isn’t it after midnight over there?”

“Yes, Shane,” her sister says, her voice tense. She’s probably sitting in her living room in her huge San Jose house, talking quietly so she doesn’t wake up her engineer

136 husband Rick and the kids. “That should be a hint as to how important this conversation

will be. Why haven’t you deposited any of Dad’s checks?”

“I’ve been telling you and Dad for the past how many months, I don’t need Dad’s

help.”

“Well, that’s not what it sounded like when you came up here. How many legal

clients have you had recently?”

“A few. Enough to pay the bills. Sort of. And since when did Dad care so much

about our well-being?”

“Shane, he always cared about us.”

“Didn’t seem that way after Mom left. We were in elementary school, and he

cared more about the guys on his squad than his own children. He was a great fucking

cop, highly decorated and all that bullshit, but a shitty father.”

Mattie sighs into the phone. Shane pictures her sister, who has the same light brown hair and green eyes as their mom, massaging the base of her neck with her fingers in the same way as their dad. “Look, Shane, even though he wasn’t always around, I’m still going to take care of him. That’s why Rick and I moved him up here. I’ve made my peace with Dad. With you, he’s trying to make up for lost time—”

“Only because he’s dying. I flew up there because we thought the end was coming.”

“God, Shane,” Mattie hisses. “Good thing I don’t have you on speaker phone, that way Dad won’t hear. I didn’t call to fight with you.”

137 It’s quiet for a moment. Shane opens her mouth to tell Mattie that she needs to get off the phone, but her sister resumes the conversation. “Maybe you should move up here.”

“Where? To California?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You can save money on rent,” Mattie says. “You know, live with us until you get on your feet—”

“Jesus, Mattie, I’m not on the brink of homelessness—”

“—Plus you could join a firm in San Jose or somewhere nearby. Rick’s brother is an attorney with a firm in L.A., remember?”

Shane rubs her eyes briefly and then glances at the clock again. “Look, I can’t talk for much longer. I have a friend coming over soon.”

“Okay fine,” Mattie says. “Real fast. I was reading the Advertiser online and saw that Kainoa Grant died. How are you doing?”

Shane thinks about the unsent emails, the rental development plans, the hidden files on Kainoa’s computer, and decides not to tell her sister about it. The less that

Mattie’s involved, the better. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“I know you bottle things up, Shane. That’s why you’re still angry with Dad.”

On a typical night, if Shane had nothing going on, she would have probably launched into a shouting match with her sister over a comment like that. Instead, she closes her eyes briefly and tells Mattie that she has to go and half-promises to call her later. She hangs up the phone and rubs her temples with her fingers. She knows that her

138 sister stands up for their father because Mattie is his favorite. Mattie is the flourishing one in their father’s eyes, the successful architect with an equally successful engineer husband, and the mother of his grandchildren.

She collects her empty take-out containers and walks to the kitchen to toss them in the trash. After she washes and dries the fork she used for dinner, she opens the fridge and looks at the beers she chilled for Jenna’s arrival. After that phone call from her sister, she decides to get started and pops open a bottle. She lets out a loud sigh and drinks half the beer while standing in the kitchen. She thinks about her father and when she saw him a few days ago. She had been sitting next to him in his bed at Mattie’s house, watching her dad sleep. The cancer whittled his once muscular arms down to bony limbs. His hair was completely gray instead of black. His face was almost skeletal.

Her three-year-old nephew Connor had quietly come into the room and curled into

Shane’s lap. “Is Pop-pop sleeping?” Connor had asked. When Shane didn’t answer,

Connor told Shane about how he wanted Grandpa to wake up so they could play like how they used to. Shane had to grit her teeth out of fear that she would explode and say something she’d horribly regret. She can’t remember her father ever wanting to play with her.

It was in that moment when she wished that she had someone to talk to about that, but she knew that no one could understand. Nobody, not even Jenna or Mattie, knew what it was like. Jenna had a great relationship with her parents, and Mattie was their dad’s favorite. She knew that the only person who she ever talked to about her issues with her father was Kainoa. And, at that time, he was the last person that she would ever call.

139 She glances at the clock again, then collapses onto her chair and checks her phone to see if Jenna called. Twenty minutes earlier Jenna had texted Shane to say that she was

leaving the office on her bike, and that she would call when she was downstairs. No call

from Jenna so far. Shane shrugs, then presses a key on her keyboard and resumes the

show she was watching.

After some time, her phone rings and Shane looks at the screen. It’s Park. She

answers the phone and takes a sip of beer.

“My cousin James found the name of the accountant for Mālama Kai,” Park says.

“Her name is Lindsay Holt. James said that he doesn’t know her personally, but he

thinks that his son might have worked with her. They were both at the same accounting

firm at the time.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a start.”

“Yeah. So did your friend show up yet?”

Shane gets to her feet and looks out the window at Hotel Street, keeping an eye

out for Jenna’s bike. “No, not yet. She should be coming by any moment now. I’m

excited for what she’s gonna bring. Should be juicy.”

“Christ. Keep me posted on what she shows you.”

Shane hangs up the phone and resumes watching her show. It’s quiet tonight, and

the only sounds outside are the occasional bus and car driving down the street. Her

phone starts ringing again. She looks at the screen, expecting Jenna, but it’s a number

she doesn’t recognize. She frowns and presses a button to silence the ring and ignore the

call. She props her feet up on her desk, yawns, and reclines into her chair, and waits for

Jenna.

140

Notes from the case are spread out on Park’s dining table in his apartment. His

McCully apartment is bare bones: small square dining table with two chairs near the

kitchen; couch, television, and small coffee table in the living room; bed, dresser, and a

lamp in the bedroom. He’s changed into a t-shirt and khaki shorts; his suit pants and

jacket are in the bedroom closet, hanging among his other suits and clothes. He looks

over his notes as he eats a meat jun and kalbi mix plate from a Korean BBQ place near

his building. He holds the Styrofoam container in one hand and a pair of wooden chopsticks in another, and leans over the table. A basketball game is on TV.

He chews a large piece of spicy, tangy kim chee and thinks about his interesting phone call to his cousin. James had returned his phone call right away and some how had

Lindsay Holt’s name ready for him. He had told Park that he had only heard of Lindsay through his son Kyle, who was now working in Seattle, and would ask him about

Lindsay. Park hadn’t even known that Kyle was on the mainland. He told James that he would wait for Kyle’s phone call.

He takes a break from looking over his notes and unfolds his copy of the afternoon newspaper. He tosses the dirty rubber band to the side and spreads the paper out on the table, on top of his notes. A headline on the front page leads to an article about

Grant’s funeral in the Hawai‘i section. There’s a large photo of the funeral procession.

Facing the camera is Christine Grant hugging a guest, and her brother-in-law standing to her side. Milton Grant stands close to them, smiling, while the rest of the family looks somber. Park looks at Jeremy and Milton—although his brother looked like a mix of

141 their parents, Jeremy definitely pulls more of his looks from Milton. He wonders if it’s common for in-laws to be so supportive. Something in the father’s smile makes him feel uneasy.

His BlackBerry rings from under the newspaper. He closes the paper and looks at the screen, hopeful that the caller would be Kyle Tsuji or Shane, but instead he sees the phone number for Christine Grant. He puts down his chopsticks and plate, mutes the TV, then takes a swig of water before he answers. “Hello Christine. Have you settled in with your aunt?”

“My aunt?”

“Yes,” Park says. He’s sure that she told him that her family would be staying with her mother’s sister. “I thought you were going to stay with her temporarily?”

“Oh, right,” Christine says. Her voice waivers. “We’re staying at home right now. Plans have changed.”

“I see…”

“I—I hope I’m not bothering you, Detective Park, but I’m calling to let you know that your services will not be needed anymore.”

Park feels as if the wind has just been knocked out of his chest. At first he’s unsure if he heard her correctly. He had provided Christine with the information on

Shane, but why didn’t she want to know about his lead?

Christine continues. “Late this afternoon an envelope was delivered to your office for the hours that you billed thus far. The receptionist ensured that you will receive the payment when you go to the office tomorrow morning.”

142 “That’s fine, but I’m unsure as to why you’re ending our contract early. I

thought you wanted more information.”

“It’s not necessary. You already provided me with the information on Shane, and

I’m going to assume that your findings were correct. I think it’s…in the best interests of

my family if we just let things be...”

“Well, I—”

“Detective Park, I think you should let things lie and not get involved,” Christine

says, her voice now hushed to a whisper. “I think you know what I mean.”

Something doesn’t seem right. “Are you okay?” Park asks, sitting up. “What’s

going on?”

“Um, I’m fine,” she replies, her voice louder. “I really must be going.”

“Okay,” Park says slowly. “Well, you take care. Please let me know if I can be

of any—”

Christine hangs up.

Park puts the phone down on the table and rubs his eyes. It doesn’t seem like

Christine was the one who wanted this investigation ended. He wonders if he should call

Shane, but decides to tell her later. The strange tone of Christine’s voice makes him uneasy. What’s left of his appetite disappears. He closes the Styrofoam cover and puts

the leftover food in the fridge. He walks back to the table and glances down at the newspaper, at the picture of the Grant family on the front page. He picks up the paper and throws it in the trash.

143 CHAPTER 8 SATURDAY

The phone startles Shane awake. She sits up in her chair, arms flailing to catch her balance. Her arm hits the half-empty beer on her desk and it falls to the floor. Dark lager spills on the ground. “Fuck,” she groans as she looks at the mess. Her neck aches from lying back in her chair. Her computer monitor is in sleep mode, the screen black.

Her eyes come into focus as she stares at the clock on the wall. Midnight. She closes her eyes, shakes her head, and then opens them again to read the clock. Still midnight.

She blinks her eyes again and looks at her ringing phone. She hadn’t expected to fall asleep after eating. She wonders when she missed Jenna’s call. Her friend is probably calling her from home, pissed that Shane didn’t answer. Shane grabs her phone and holds the screen to her face, expecting to see Jenna’s name. But instead, Shane reads the name of her husband. “Hello?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Mase?”

“Shane, what happened?” Mason says frantically, almost shouting. In the background, someone’s crying and other voices are talking in the background. “She was supposed to meet you!”

Shane is now fully awake. She gets up and walks around her desk, stepping in the spilled beer. She wipes her foot on the other leg of her sweatpants. “Mase, what are you talking about?”

“Jenna! She was meeting you after work!”

“Jenna didn’t come here. I fell asleep. The last I heard from her was a text message telling me that she was on her way.”

Mason lets out a sob.

144 Shane’s muscles tense. Her stomach falls. A sour taste spreads on her tongue.

“Wait—Mase, what happened?” she asks, her bottom lip quivering. “Where are you?”

“Queen’s.”

“What’s going on? Where’s Jenna?”

Mason speaks in between deep breaths. “Jenna…was hit...riding…her

bike…she’s in…ICU.”

Shane doesn’t hear the rest of what Mason says before she hangs up. She pulls on her slippers, grabs her keys, and flies down the stairs. She bursts through the door of the

building and runs around the corner to her car. On the drive to Queen’s, her vision is

blurry with tears. She finds an empty parking stall on Punchbowl, to the side of the State

Library, and she sprints across the four lanes of Punchbowl to the emergency room, her

slippers slapping on the road. She asks an attendant at the front desk for Jenna’s room

number, and she races to the ICU. When she gets off the elevator and runs towards the

suite, she sees Mason sitting in a chair outside Jenna’s room. He’s wearing faded

boardshorts and a UC-SD t-shirt, and he stares at the floor. His eyes are red, his face is

pale, and his hair is sticking in different directions from sleep. Next to the chair, the

twins are asleep in their stroller. Mason’s mother, dressed in a nightgown and a cardigan,

talks to a doctor and a few police officers, and when she sees Shane walking towards

them, she excuses herself and walks towards Shane.

“Now is not a good time,” Mrs. Shigetani says, glaring at Shane, looking up-and-

down at her sweatpants and t-shirt. Without her make-up, she looks different from when

Shane would see her at the Shigetani house. “Please go home. My son isn’t ready to talk

to you. His wife is in critical condition.”

145 “But—but I need to talk to him,” Shane says, looking past the woman and

towards Mason. “I need to see my friend. Mason!”

Mason looks up at Shane for a bit before staring back at the floor. Mrs. Shigetani

steps to the side to block Shane’s view. “Please go home,” Mason’s mother says again,

this time through clenched teeth. She grabs Shane’s arm, digs her nails into Shane’s skin.

“My son will call you in the morning, or whenever he feels like talking to you. You’re

part of the reason this happened in the first place.”

One of the officers steps towards Shane and holds up a hand. “I’m sorry, miss,”

he says, “but we’re conducting an investigation. You’ll have to leave. No visitors.”

Shane stares at Mrs. Shigetani and lifts her arm to push the woman out of her

way, but instead she yanks her arm away. She looks at Mason, then at the twins. She

remembers how Jenna always grumbled about the twins not looking a thing like her. But

now, as Shane watches them, she can see traces of their mother in their sleeping faces.

She turns away without saying a word. She runs into the single-stall restroom near the

waiting area and splashes water on her face. She steps out of the restroom and almost

collides into someone in the hallway. “Excuse me,” she says, not looking up from the

ground.

“Hey Shane!” the person says. “Funny seeing you here. How are you?”

Shane freezes, then turns to see Lance Chun, her former colleague at the Bulletin.

She barely recognized him—he’s gained weight and lost some hair. “Hey Lance,” she says, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Um, I’m here to see a friend. What about you?”

146 Lance raises his eyebrows at her sweats and t-shirt, and holds up a press pass, a notepad, and a pen. “I’m here to interview the family of the hit-and-run victim on

Beretania. Just notified about it. We received a tip at the paper. Pretty sad.”

“Oh,” Shane says. She hears the shakiness in her voice and clears her throat.

“Were there any witnesses?”

“Not that I know of. A bus driver was coming down Beretania and he saw the body on the street.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Luckily the woman was wearing a helmet. I bet if she didn’t wear a helmet, things would’ve turned out differently.”

Shane glares at him for a bit, but then turns to walk towards the elevators. “Nice seeing you, Lance,” she calls over her shoulder. “Good luck on your lead.” She takes a few steps before Lance calls out to her again.

“Hey Shane, I heard that my cousin Russ Park is working with you on

something.”

Shane stops. “What did you say?”

“Russ Park? I think he said that you were affiliated with a case?” Lance’s face

falls when he sees Shane’s eyes widen. “Oh, maybe I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.

Sorry. Well, I gotta get going. See ya.”

Shane watches Lance hurry over towards Jenna’s room. She stands in the empty hallway and looks at her reflection in the windows overlooking the State Capitol. She walks slowly towards the elevators, questions running through her head. She wonders if

Park spoke to Lance about her, or told Lance things about Kainoa. Her chest feels heavy,

147 and now anger is trickling through her. She balls her hands into fists and punches the

“down” elevator button.

When she returns to the loft, she dials Park’s number, her hands shaking. She

paces back and forth around the room as the phone rings. She’s about to hang up when

he finally answers, drowsily. “Why the fuck did you talk about me to Lance Chun?” she

hisses into the phone.

“What?” Park croaks, voice groggy. “What’re you—do you know what time it

is?”

“I ran into your cousin Lance Chun at the hospital.”

“What were you doing at the hospital?”

“Nevermind that. Lance is my former colleague at the paper. He said that you

asked him about me?”

“Um, okay. I really don’t want to do this right now, but I had to ask him about

you for the case.”

Shane picks up a decorative pillow from the couch and throws it across the room.

It hits the bookshelf and plops onto the floor. “What case? What in the fuck are you

talking about? You had no business talking to him about me.”

“Look, it’s confidential, okay? Between me and my client.”

“Jesus Christ. What client?”

Park sighs. “It’s after midnight. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

Shane clears her throat as a sob tries to make its way out of her chest. She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut. “Jenna. My friend Jenna was in a hit-and-run on

her way to my apartment. Her husband called me. She’s in ICU at Queen’s.”

148 “Oh shit,” Park exhales. “Look, Shane, I—”

“No,” Shane says, her voice rising. “No, we’re done. I’m working alone from now on. You can go back to talking to people about me, or finding out information on your own. Fuck you. I’m done.” She hangs up the phone and throws it against the couch. It bounces back and clatters hard on the floor.

Jackson stands in front of the closed office door, hands on his hips, and head cocked to the side. “Right now isn’t a good time,” he says, eyebrow rising slightly.

“You bettah come back latah.”

Park is at the third stair to the top, looking up at the intern. It’s one in the afternoon, and he hasn’t heard from Shane since late last night. After her angry phone call, he couldn’t fall back to sleep. He isn’t sure why he’s even at the loft at that moment.

Maybe it’s guilt? Maybe he feels for her since her friend died? “Can I please come in?” he asks. “I need to talk to Shane.”

Jackson lets out a long sigh. “Detective, she no like talk to anybody. Da only reason dat I stay hea on one Saturday is ‘cause I need fo’ log hours fo’ my internship. I had to let myself in wit da office key this morning.”

Park closes his eyes and pinches the skin between them. “Look, it’s Jackson, right? I found out about her friend Jenna and I really need to talk to Shane.”

Jackson purses his lips, then rolls his eyes and opens the door. “Okay, fine, you can come in,” he says as he enters the loft. “Close da door behind you. By the way, you no look as intimidating when you not wearing a suit.”

149 Park glances down at his jeans and polo shirt. Jackson plops down at his desk and points towards the couch, where Shane is sitting. She’s wrapped in a blanket and is staring out the window at the street. Her hair is a mess, her eyes puffy and red. She’s wearing faded sweat pants and a t-shirt. An almost empty bottle of whiskey is in her lap.

As Park approaches, Shane glances behind her. Her eyes widen with rage when she sees him and she whirls around.

“What the fuck,” Shane growls, standing. “Jackson! What did I say?”

“He said he need fo’ talk to you,” Jackson says, eyes still on his computer. “I tink you bettah listen to him.”

“Shane, c’mon,” Park says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We gotta talk about this shit.”

Shane’s eyes burn into Park for what feels like hours. She finally lets out a loud sigh and then asks Jackson to be a good intern and get her a hot coffee, and to buy her another handle of Jack Daniels. When Jackson leaves, Park sits in the intern seat, careful not to lean back on the holster tucked into the back waistband of his jeans. After last night’s call from Christine Grant, he feels the need to carry his piece, just in case. He wheels the chair towards Shane, who glares at him.

“What do you want?” Shane asks.

Park isn’t sure why he’s ready to tell Shane all of this, but something tells him that he should. Maybe it’s the look on Shane’s face, which makes his stomach drop, that makes him feel the need to talk. “Although it’s really none of your business, I want to talk to you about Lance,” he says slowly, eyes on her face. “I spoke to Lance because I

150 wanted to get more information about your time at the paper. I was asked by a client to look into your involvement with Kainoa Grant before his death, specifically the emails.”

“Who’s your client?”

Park thinks about the cash locked in his desk drawer in his office. He hesitates for a bit, but then remembers that his contract is done. “Christine Grant.”

Shane abruptly sits up. The blanket falls to the couch. “Christine asked you to look into the purpose of those emails? How the hell would I know? I never received any of them. Besides, I think her husband is the one who has the answer to that.”

“Well, she can’t ask him anyway,” Park says. “She seemed quite…concerned about your involvement with him.”

Shane looks out the window. “Hmm, I guess she has reason.” She turns to look at Park and rolls her eyes. “I bet you’re dying to know what was going on between me and Kainoa, aren’t you?”

Park shrugs. “Only what you’re willing to divulge. I believe you had no contact with him before his death, but I know that there was something going on before.”

Shane lets out a deep breath and takes the last swig from the bottle. “Okay, well, here it goes. I started working for Kainoa after he fired his office manager during

Session. We found out that we had similar backgrounds, similar family situations. We liked the same movies, shit like that. Over time, we started having deeper conversations, about how I struggled with my legal career, about how he struggled with his decision to go into politics to please his father. His father tended to praise his brother Jeremy. I think the only reason why Kainoa chose politics in the first place was to make his dad proud. Yet, it didn’t work.”

151 “Why not?”

“Kainoa was elected at, what, age twenty-eight? He didn’t even have a real career then, or at least a real career by his father’s standards. Also, he was a full-time politician at a part-time legislature, without any other sort of real income. Anyway, we’d talk about that shit.

“After some time, I had an inkling that something else was going on. Legislative session ended, and none of the legislators are ever around during interim. Kainoa started coming around the office, bringing me lunch for no reason. I dunno what happened, but something clicked between the two of us. We ended up sleeping together one day, and that was the beginning of it.”

Park narrows his eyes at Shane’s aloofness. “So you started having an affair with him?”

“Jesus, no, not an affair,” Shane says, her voice shrill. “He was single then. Or at least I thought he was. He told me that he and Christine were dating before he was elected, but then they broke up before he and I started. One day, he brought her to the office, and I learned that they were back together. Yet, we still kept going at it. Even after he told me that he bought a ring for Christine…he told me that he really wanted to be with me.”

Park scratches his chin in thought. “Do you think Christine ever suspected that something was going on?”

Shane shrugs. “Not sure. We’d usually come back to my place to have sex. We broke it off after I stopped working for him. When I look back at that time, I don’t even know why I kept going through with it.”

152 “Does anyone else know about you two?”

“Doubt it. There are always rumors going around the Capitol, and there was a rumor going around there about Kainoa hooking up with me before I was his O.M. I didn’t tell anyone about our relationship, except for my sister. Oh, and Jenna, but she had to force it out of me…” Shane trails off, and then buries her face in her hands.

“You don’t have to go on,” Park says after a few minutes. He wonders if he should give her a hug or something. Instead, goes to the kitchen to get a bottle of water

from the fridge. He sets the bottle down by her feet and takes his seat at Jackson’s desk.

Her face flushed, Shane drops her hands, coughs, and then opens the bottled

water. “Thanks,” she mumbles as she takes a sip. “This has been hard. Anyway, I think

the rumors were squashed once I started writing about him in the paper. Although maybe

that fueled them further. I’m not sure.”

“Is your, um, relationship with him the reason why you stopped working for

him?”

Shane bites her bottom lip. “Sort of…”

They don’t say anything for a long time. Park looks out the window, at the

buildings across the street from the loft, then back at Shane. He watches her stare outside

and slowly sip the water. Instead of changing the subject to something else, he decides to

talk. “Well,” he says, sitting up in his seat, “if it offers any sort of consolation, I have a

similar experience.”

Shane looks back at him, eyebrow raised. “Consolation?”

“Seems like you’re bothered.”

“Whatever. Tell me your story.”

153 Park lets out a sigh. “Back when we met at Zippy’s, you asked why I left the

force. At the time I didn’t think it was relevant, but I guess I’ll share.” He clears his

throat, wonders if he should go on. He hasn’t told anyone about this, probably for good

reason.

“I was tired of L.A., so I decided to move to Hawai‘i. I was born and raised in

L.A., and I was longing for something different, a change maybe. I had some college

friends at H.P.D., so I submitted my application and was hired as a detective. When I

was brought on squad, I was partnered up with Patty Mendoza. She was older than me, a

little hardened from her time on the force, but she was a good detective. She was married, had a kid, a little boy named Ray Junior, but they called him ‘Sonny,’ who she

barely saw because she was always at work. Patty and I got along well. We were close,

you know, in that way you become when you work closely with someone. After a few

years, I noticed Patty’s temperament changing. She was growing distant, quiet. She

started withdrawing, not telling me things. I didn’t think much of it, I thought she was

going through a phase. We all go through it from time to time.

“Then, one day, we’re en route on a call to Kapahulu, and she tells me that her

husband wants a divorce. He wants to move to the mainland and take Sonny with him.

Patty, she starts crying, like bawling, in the car. I don’t know what to do, so I try to comfort her. Then, she tries to kiss me. I don’t know how it happened, but I stopped her,

told her that she should talk to someone, maybe a therapist. I didn’t feel the same way

that she did, even though I’m still not sure how she felt. Anyway, I end up taking her

home, and I told her to get some rest and talk to our captain about taking some leave or something. The next day I got to the station, and I found out that Patty shot herself that

154 night. Earlier that day, her husband had taken Sonny and moved out of the house. Patty was alone.”

“Christ,” Shane says. “That’s some heavy shit.”

“It took me some time to get over it,” Park says, rubbing the back his neck with his hand. He pictures Patty, alone in her house, feeling like she’s reached the end. He shakes his head to dissolve the image. “That’s why I stopped being a cop. I just didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t see a point in it after that.”

Shane lets out a deep breath. “Well,” she says, leaning back on the sofa, “maybe you and I are the type that operates better alone.”

“Maybe,” Park says with a chuckle. He sees Shane now, the color returning to her sallow cheeks, and can see what other men don’t see in her. Sure, she’s pretty, although not in that Christine Grant-way, but something else makes her attractive. It’s that vulnerability that she tries to cover up and slowly lets show. It’s the way that she slowly lets you in.

Park’s BlackBerry starts ringing in his pocket. He looks at the caller ID and sees a Washington area code. He holds up his phone to Shane, who nods at him to answer the call.

“Uncle Russ?” a male voice says when Park answers. “It’s Kyle Tsuji.”

“Hey Kyle,” Park says, leaning back in the chair. “Thanks for calling me. I didn’t know that you moved to Seattle.”

“Yeah, got tired of the Hawai‘i scene. I’m with a downtown accounting firm.

My dad said you wanted to talk to me about someone I know?”

155 “I’m looking into a case involving a non-profit here in Hawai‘i. I learned that the accountant for the non-profit is Lindsay Holt. Your dad said you knew her.”

Kyle chuckles, probably rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “Oh yeah, I knew Lindsay alright. She’s a bitch.”

Park’s eyes widen. “That’s quite an opinion.”

“Yeah, well, I dated Lindsay for eight months last year, until I found out that she was cheating on me.”

“What’s your opinion on the non-profit?”

“Well, for starters, I’m convinced that it’s a cover for something. They brought in a lot of money over the past few years. I used to help Lindsay with the books when we started dating. I volunteered my time because it seemed like a good organization. I remember, though, she told me about one of their donations from some corporation, a hotel company, which she didn’t claim on their donor list. Why would a hotel donate a shitload of money to a dinky non-profit? Doesn’t sound right to me.”

“Yeah, doesn’t sound right to me either,” Park murmurs.

“Honestly, I know that Lindsay was hiding their donations. She told me about it before, in passing.”

“If you had your suspicions, why didn’t you say anything earlier? You could’ve reported Lindsay and Mālama Kai to the authorities.”

“Not sure,” Kyle says. “I mean, I was pissed off, but I didn’t feel like taking down a company. That politician, his dad has powerful connections. What could I do?”

Park raises his eyebrows at the mention of Milton Grant. He glances over at

Shane, who’s watching him. “Can you give me a physical description of Lindsay?”

156 Kyle pauses in thought. “Well, she’s medium height, about five-four. Light brown hair. Green eyes. Nice tits, round ass. Very high maintenance. If you saw her, you’d know who she was immediately. Why are you looking into Mālama Kai anyway?

I’m just curious.”

“Sorry, Kyle, that’s confidential.”

“Shucks. Figures. Well, whatever happens to Lindsay, we’ll say that it’s my

secret revenge.”

Park thanks Kyle for calling. He hangs up and pockets the phone as he fills in

Shane on the phone call.

“Maybe it’s Channing’s idea,” Shane says. “I mean, I know from experience that you sometimes you do dumb things for your boss.”

Park opens his mouth to tell Shane to stop being hard on herself, but the office door opens, and Jackson walks back in with a coffee and small bag from Longs. “Shane, you gotta check your phone,” he says, handing her the coffee. “I called you to ask what kine coffee you wanted, but you nevah answer. I hope black coffee is good.” He eyes

Park sitting in his chair. Park gets the message and stands. Jackson places the Longs bag on the kitchen counter.

“Weird,” Shane says, walking to her desk, “it didn’t ring.” She picks up her phone and fiddles with it. “I dropped it yesterday and it was acting up…”

Park sits on the vacated couch and watches Shane. He thinks about her and

Kainoa Grant. He wonders what was so bad about their relationship; it wasn’t the first

157 time that an employee slept with a boss. Maybe there was something else to it, but he wasn’t going to press it further.

Shane turns her phone off, then back on. When the phone turns back on, the voice message alert goes off. She listens to the message, and her face falls. She turns towards Park, eyes wide. “Listen to this,” she says, pressing a few buttons and pushing her phone in Park’s hand. “It’s from late last night.”

Park’s ear is filled with the mainland accent that sounds familiar to him, except this voice is full of money. “Shane Nohara, this is Joshua Wright. It has been brought to my attention that you have accessed some files belonging to my company. This information is strictly confidential. I will do everything in my power to ensure that these files leave your custody. I repeat, everything in my power.”

“How did he know that you had the files?” Park asks, handing the phone back to

Shane, whose face is white. “Did they find out about you getting the files from Grant’s computer?”

“I’m not sure,” Shane says. “Jenna was the one who accessed the files on

Kainoa’s computer. Maybe he thought that Jenna was me.” She looks at Park, the worry on her face slowly turning to anger. “What if they were trying to get me?”

“Shane, whatchu talking about?” Jackson asks.

Park looks back at Shane, who is staring out the window again, her face hard.

“Your boss and I are working together on a case,” he says to Jackson. “I think we might have a lead.”

“Whatchu mean, one lead? Shane, are we in trouble?”

158 Shane turns from the window and looks at Jackson. “Jacks, I think you should go

home. Don’t come into the office until I say you can. I can’t have you getting mixed up

in this.”

Jackson presses his lips together and rises from the chair. “Shane, dis sounds

scary. I tink you should call da cops or someting.”

“No, she’s right,” Park says. “You shouldn’t be around here. Go home until

Shane tells you to come back. In fact, I’ll drive you. My car is parked on the street.”

Jackson rolls his eyes as he packs his belongings and follows Park to the front door. “Whatevas. I from Kalihi, okay? Not like it’s more safe ovah dea.”

“Wait—”

Park turns around and sees Shane running behind the bookshelf. After a minute, she returns in a pair of jeans, and finger-combs her hair. She grabs her phone from her desk and slips it into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m coming with you. We need to find

Lindsay Holt and find out how Mālama Kai is connected to this hotel-vacation-tourist business.”

“You need to lay low,” Park says. “We don’t know if Jenna was attacked by accident, or if the hotel found out that she accessed the files.”

Shane shakes her head. “No way, I’m coming with you,” she says as she shoos

Park and Jackson out the front door. She locks the door behind them and walks down the stairs. “I’m not hiding out from these assholes.”

“Suit yourself,” Park says, exchanging looks with Jackson. “Is she always like

this?”

159 Jackson nods and follows Shane down the stairs. “Yep. Good luck, Detective.

Forget dose oddah guys. I tink she’s the one to be afraid of.”

160 CHAPTER 9

After dropping off Jackson at his parents’ house in Kalihi, Shane and Park head to

Mānoa, on the hunt for Channing Wong’s home. Shane shakes her head at the thought of

Channing hooking up with the accountant. They pull into the Starbucks parking lot, but all of the stalls are taken. Shane gets out of the car as Park keeps the engine running.

Once inside, Shane scans the place and sees no sign of Wong. She approaches the counter and smiles at the college-age, surfer-looking haole barista at the register.

“Hey,” Shane says, peering at the barista’s nametag, “Skyler, is it?” She holds up her phone and shows Skyler a picture of Channing from the Mālama Kai website. “Do you know this guy?”

Skyler looks at the picture and nods. “Yeah, I know him. That’s Channing. He’s a regular. He throws some pretty sick parties at his house. He’s invited me a couple times, only because I have his order memorized.”

Shane has to struggle not to roll her eyes. Figures that Channing Wong would be hosting college parties. “Cool. Do you know where his house is? I’m a family friend of his, err, recently deceased business partner. I was asked to stop by Channing’s house to pick up some stuff. I’d call him but I accidentally deleted his number from my phone.”

“Oh bummer, hate it when that happens. To get to his house, keep going straight up East Mānoa Road until you reach Alani Drive. Turn left on Alani, and go until you reach Woodlawn Drive. Turn right, and his house is on the left. It’s surrounded by a black gate. You won’t miss it.”

161 Shane thanks Skyler and exits the shop. “We gotta go deep into Mānoa,” she says when she gets into the passenger seat of Park’s car. They pull out of Starbucks and drive onto East Mānoa Road, heading into the valley. A faint mist of rain coats Park’s windshield. Even in the late afternoon, the air seems cool and crisp. Shane glances at

Park, whose eyes are on the road. She watches his face and wonders why he told her about his partner Patty. It was surprising though, to hear Park’s reason as to why he left

H.P.D.. His admission of being hired by Christine Grant still stings, and maybe he told her about Patty so that she would take it easy on him. She doesn’t want to admit to herself that it’s working. She’s unsure of why she’s lowering her guard with Park.

People can’t be trusted. Her time with Kainoa taught her that.

“I don’t mean to revisit the earlier conversation, but I had the weirdest call from

Christine Grant last night,” Park says, snapping Shane out of her thoughts.

“What about?”

“Well, she called me to tell me that she was ending our contract. She said that my services weren’t needed anymore.”

Shane turns to look out the window. “She didn’t want to hear what her husband was up to?”

“I guess not. The weird thing, though, is that she sounded very hesitant on the phone. She sounded very…uncomfortable, almost as if she was being forced to do something against her will. Also, another thing that stood out to me was that she paid me in cash.”

“What’s so weird about cash?”

“Well, the first time she paid me, she wrote me a check.”

162 “Hmm,” Shane says, tapping her lips with her index finger. Checks were

traceable, whereas cash usually is not. “That is weird. I wonder what’s going on.

Maybe she spoke to her brother?”

“I don’t know,” Park says, “but I think she knows more than she’s letting on.”

They keep driving until they reach Woodlawn. The property value in this neighborhood is high, and the residents are affluent local families who’ve lived in the

area for years. Park pulls up a few houses across the street from a two-story house built

along the mountainside. The house is an older design, but looks recently renovated and

re-painted. A black wrought-iron gate atop a low rock wall surrounds the property, but

the entrance to the driveway is closed. The open-air garage is vacant.

Shane and Park get out of the car and walk towards the house. The door of the

black mailbox, which is built into the wall, reads “WONG” on the front. “Shit,” Shane

mutters, lightly kicking the gate with her shoe. “He’s not here.”

“Maybe he’s at the new offices,” Park says, eyes on the empty garage.

“Downtown, right?”

Shane shrugs and follows Park to the car. “Right. He told me that the new

offices opened yesterday. Maybe they’re already moved in. He seems like a slacker though, so I’d be surprised if he was in the office on a Saturday.”

Just as Park starts the engine, he looks in the review mirror and tells Shane to look

behind them. Shane turns around slightly in the passenger seat and sees a black Range

Rover turning onto Woodlawn. The car slowly drives in front of Channing’s house and

stops in the street. Dark tint covers the car’s windows, but Shane can make out a figure

163 in the driver’s seat. She can see the backlight of a cell phone through the tint. The license plate reads, “JWRI1.”

“Seems like we’re not the only ones looking for Channing Wong,” Park says

quietly. “We better get downtown right away.” He pulls away from the curb and heads

in the other direction.

Shane lowers the sun visor and watches the Range Rover grow smaller and

smaller in the visor’s mirror. When the car is out of sight, she flips the visor back up. “I

wonder if Josh Wright is talking to Channing right now,” she says. “I think we’re

uncovering something big.”

Park accelerates the car as they head towards downtown. Shane looks behind

them occasionally, keeping an eye out for the black SUV, but she doesn’t see the vehicle.

When they get back to downtown, Park pulls his car into his stall in the empty

Bishop Square parking garage, the screeching of the tires bouncing off the garage walls.

They walk across Bishop Square and towards King Street. Shane ignores the crosswalk

and waits at the curb, watching for an opening in oncoming traffic.

She turns towards Park, and sees him staring across the street, at a young haole woman in dark rinse jeans and sheer blouse. The girl walks towards the building entrance, Starbucks cups in hand. Shane frowns and slaps his arm with the back of her hand. “Will you pay attention?” she hisses. “Checking out T&A during a time like this.”

“I think that’s Linsday,” Park says. “She fits the description that Kyle gave me.”

“Who would’ve thought that she’d work on a Saturday,” Shane mutters as they run across the street. They enter the lobby of the First Hawaiian Center and head towards

164 the elevators. Shane looks at directory, but can’t find Mālama Kai’s office on the listing.

She exhales loudly.

“Can I help you?” a voice says from behind them.

Shane whirls around and sees an elderly Hawaiian security guard standing near the first elevator. “You two look lost,” the guard says, raising a gray eyebrow at them.

“Do you know where Mālama Kai’s floor is located?” Park asks. “We have an appointment with them.”

“Sure,” the guard says. “Twentieth floor. Just ask next time.”

On the elevator ride up, Shane wonders how all of this happened. She stares at the floor and leans against the wall. She thinks about Kainoa’s emails, wonders if maybe he was trying to warn her about all of his. Maybe he was trying to confess. Maybe he wanted out of this.

“You okay?”

Shane looks up at Park, who’s watching her, and shrugs. “I keep thinking about

Kainoa, and this mess. I just can’t believe that he’s affiliated with all of this shit, like the rental and this bogus non-profit. I mean, I criticized him in my column, but I didn’t think that he would be involved in something like this. Maybe I idealized him too much.”

“Why does this guy still have a hold on you?” Park asks, shaking his head. “Look,

I haven’t met this guy, but from what I heard of him, he sounds like a prick. Cheats on his wife, makes business deals—”

“He’s just a politician.”

“Well, you’re right. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure he was only elected based on his looks.” Park glances at her briefly.

165 Shane smiles at Park’s comment. That’s one of the lines that she wrote in her column in a feature about how the public votes for their political figures. She wrote about how some politicians are elected based on their campaign sign pictures. Of course the person that she was referring to was Kainoa.

The elevator opens and they walk into the lobby. The walls are painted the soft color of sand, expensive framed photographs of waves and beach scenes line the walls.

A small sign hangs on a wall, explaining how every piece of furniture and the carpet is made out of sustainable materials. The Mālama Kai logo, which is the outline of a wave, hangs behind the reception desk, where a petite Japanese girl in her early twenties sits, chin in her palm as she stares at her computer screen.

The girl sits up when Shane and Park enter the lobby. “Hi, can I help—”

“We’re here to see Channing Wong,” Shane says, plowing past the receptionist desk and through the glass double doors leading to the office spaces.

“But Mr. Wong said—”

“We’ll see ourselves to his office,” Park says from behind Shane as the doors close behind them.

“Wait!” the girl chirps. “Mr. Wong said no visitors!”

Shane and Park hurry past the offices, which smell of fresh paint and carpet, and peek inside each space. All of the offices doors are open, exposing the vacant interior, except for a large office in the corner. Channing Wong’s nameplate is on the wall next to the closed office door.

“Stop!” the girl cries, her shoes thumping on the carpet. “You can’t go in there!

I’m calling security!”

166 Park opens the door to the office, providing a full view to both him and Shane.

Channing Wong is seated, but not at his wooden desk. Instead, he’s kneeling on the

ground next to his desk, his head in between Lindsay Holt’s legs, his hands lifting her ass

off the desk. His muscular chest and abs show from his unbuttoned dress shirt. His jeans

are around his ankles, revealing expensive black boxer briefs and muscular tanned legs.

The young woman is on her back, writhing on the empty desk. Her jeans and underwear

are on the floor and her blouse is open, exposing large breasts in a lacy black bra.

“Holy shit!” Channing shouts, pulling away from Lindsay, who screams and rolls off the desk and onto the carpet. He whirls around and pulls up his pants just as the

receptionist collides into Shane, who’s standing at the doorway.

“Mr. Wong, I’m so sorry!” the receptionist squeals. She starts to explain herself, but then her eyes grow wide when she sees her boss zip his jeans and the half-naked

office accountant pull on her clothes. “Oh…my…god! Channing! What are you

doing?”

Channing glares at Shane and Park, eyes wild, his mouth glistening. “What the

fuck! Tricia, get out of here!”

The receptionist’s eyes are brimming with tears. “But—but—what about the

other night—”

Channing slams a hand onto the desk. “Tricia, get the fuck out of here!” As the

receptionist scurries away, Channing wipes his face with his shirtsleeve. “What the fuck

are you two doing here? Get the fuck out of my office!”

“Actually, Channing,” Shane says, stepping into the office, nose wrinkling as she

gets a whiff of Channing’s acrid cologne, “we’re here to talk to you and Miss Holt—”

167 “How in the hell do you know who I am?” Lindsay shouts as she furiously

buttons her blouse. “And who are you?”

Park steps forward to Shane’s side. “I’m Russell Park, private investigator, and

this is my associate Shane Nohara. We know that you’ve been hiding donations from the

Wright Hôtelier Group, and that you, Channing Wong, have been in cahoots with the

rental development and rigged the votes at the Water Commission.”

“You have no proof,” Channing says through clenched teeth as he buttons his

pants.

“All we have to do is put in a call to H.P.D.,” Shane says, crossing her arms in

front of her chest. “We can subpoena your accounting statements. I’m sure it’ll make

complete sense, since there’s no way your non-profit could afford these office spaces,

among your other expenses.” She raises an eyebrow at Lindsay, who is staring wildly at

Channing. “I’m sure Miss Holt can explain everything to the police for you.”

Lindsay wipes smeared pink lip gloss from her thin lips with the back of her hand.

“I told you, Channing,” she says hastily. “See, I told you not to trust him.”

“Shut up, Lindsay.”

“I’m too young to go to jail,” Lindsay snaps. Her eyes, which are the color of green sea glass, quiver as she looks at Shane and Park. “It all started—”

“We had an agreement, you bitch!” Channing shouts, raising his fist towards

Lindsay, who screams and blocks her face with her hands. Channing lowers his hand towards her, and Shane lurches forward towards Lindsay. Shane stops when Park whips out a gun and points it at Channing’s face.

“Don’t move,” Park says slowly, “or I’ll shoot your fucking head.”

168 “Are you crazy?!” Channing spits, backing up from Park and almost falling over

his desk chair. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You wouldn’t do it.” His eyes

grow wide as Park takes a step closer.

Shane raises her eyebrows at Park. She turns towards Channing. “I’d listen to

him if I were you, asshole,” she says. “He’s former H.P.D.. Homicide.”

Channing’s fist trembles in the air, then he lowers it to his side, eyes staring at

Park.

“You might as well talk,” Park says, gun still pointed at Channing. “Tell us what’s going on, Lindsay. You said something about not trusting ‘him’?”

Lindsay shakes her head. She peeks at Park between her fingers, which still cover

her face. “Oh my god,” she mutters into her palm.

“You better talk, or I’m shooting your boyfriend,” Park says.

“Talk!” Channing shouts at her. “Fuck, hurry up!”

“Kainoa Grant,” Lindsay says. “He was the one who arranged all of this.” She

glances at Channing, whose forehead is dripping with sweat. “Look, Channing knows

about the deal more than I do. I was just asked to not report the donations.”

“Look, it wasn’t my idea, okay?” Channing sputters. “Kainoa, he was the one

who came up with this.”

Shane narrows her eyes. “What was the plan?”

“Kainoa had a deal with the hotel company, with this guy named Josh Wright,”

Channing says. “All we had to do was get the Water Commission votes to allow the

construction, and then the developer would pay us a ton of money. We couldn’t get

checks written out to us outright, so Josh Wright donated the money to Mālama Kai.”

169 Shane clears her throat, but she finds it hard to say anything after hearing

Kainoa’s name. She can see Park glance at her from the corner of her eye, but she keeps

her stare on Channing.

“Who is Josh Wright?” Park asks.

“He’s the developer,” Channing says. “He wants to break into the Hawai‘i

market, since they don’t have a presence here or some shit. I don’t really know.”

Park nods slowly. “So if you were being paid by this guy, why hide it in the non- profit?”

“Kainoa didn’t want the money made out to Channing directly,” Lindsay says. “It was easier if we put it under the non-profit. He was brought on as a consultant for the property’s design, so he got his money that way.”

Shane narrows her eyes at Channing. “Why would Kainoa do this? I thought he cared about the environment.”

“I don’t know,” Channing says, eyes narrowing. “Why does everyone think that he’s such a goddamn martyr? It’s obvious why he did this. He wanted to make money, but he didn’t want it to ruin his precious public image.”

“I take it that you weren’t a fan of your brother-in-law?” Park asks.

Channing shrugs. “Whatever. He was an asshole. He didn’t like that my sister was making more money than him. He loved it when cameras were around. He was full of himself. I’m sure that’s why he was killed.”

Goosebumps ripple through Shane’s arm. She and Park exchange brief glances.

“What are you saying, Wong?” Park says slowly.

170 Channing raises his arms in self-defense. “Hey, hey, I’m only repeating what the

rumors are saying. I didn’t touch the guy, but I know Kainoa. He knew Spitting Caves

like the back of his fucking hand. He would’ve timed that jump perfectly and wouldn’t

have hit his head on the rocks.”

Shane shakes her head, ready to move on with this. They got a confession out of

Channing and Linsday, and now it’s over. “I’m calling the cops,” she murmurs, pulling

out her phone. She dials 911 and she’s about to press the “Call” button, when she hears

Channing chuckle.

“You should know how Kainoa was,” Channing says, “since you were fucking him.”

Shane looks up from her phone and at Channing. “What did you say?” she asks.

A slow smile spreads across Channing’s face when he sees Shane’s shocked

expression. “Oh, you didn’t think he would tell anyone about that? I didn’t like the guy,

but we used to talk. He told me about how he was fucking his office manager.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shane hisses, pocketing her phone.

“Shane, don’t listen to him,” Park says, taking another step closer to Channing.

“Go to the lobby.”

Channing keeps going. “He said that you would suck his dick in the office, when he was on the phone with other reps. He would tell me about how you’d beg for him to take his pants off as soon as he came in the door.”

“Channing, shut up,” Lindsay murmurs.

“Shane,” Park says, “get outta here now.”

171 “He told me about how you cried when he fired you,” Channing says, clasping his hands behind his head. “But he paid you off, right, before you left? He said that he couldn’t have my sister know about the baby—”

Something snaps inside of Shane and she lunges at the desk. Her hands wrap around Channing’s neck and they fall back with the desk chair, landing on the carpet.

She straddles his waist and punches him repeatedly in the face. She keeps hitting him until she feels someone pull her away. She yells out as Park drags her out of the office.

“Fuck you!” she shouts at Channing, who is tended to by a screaming Lindsay. “Fuck you, you’re going down!”

The wind is knocked out of Shane when Park throws her over his shoulder and rushes down the hall and out of the lobby. She thrashes around to break free from his grip, kicks her legs and throws her arms around, but her torso is locked between Park’s arm and his shoulder. The receptionist is nowhere to be seen. Shane yells every obscenity she knows towards the direction Channing’s office.

When they’re in the elevator, Park drops her on the floor. “Calm down!” he shouts at her, holstering his gun. “We’re outta there. Pull yourself together.”

Shane covers her face with her hands. Her right hand throbs from hitting

Channing’s face. Her eyes burn with tears, but she doesn’t let them shed. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, her chest heaving. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“No, you are not okay,” Park says. “We need to get the hell out of here. Let’s go to my office. I’ll place a call to my buddies at H.P.D..”

172 As soon as they exit the elevator, they head towards the lobby doors. Shane

braces herself, waits for a swarm of security guards to meet them. The only one she sees

is the old guard from earlier. He nods at them as they pass by.

Shane follows Park across King Street and to his office building. Her limbs are shaking, and she shoves her balled fists into her pockets. They enter the American

Savings Bank tower and take the elevator to the suite where Park’s office is located.

Inside the empty elevator, she takes a deep breath and faces Park. “There wasn’t a baby,” she says as she folds her arms in front of her chest.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Park replies. “I didn’t ask.”

Shane frowns. “Well, I feel like I should since we’re being open with each other.

I didn’t quit the Capitol by choice. It was after Kainoa decided he wanted to run for

Senate. Kainoa and I were still sleeping together, even after he was with Christine, then I skipped a period. I wasn’t sure if I was pregnant, but I told him about my missed period anyway.” She takes a deep breath to continue, but pauses when the elevator doors open to Park’s office floor.

They walk past the reception area and head down a hallway. Several staff members dressed in t-shirts and jeans look up at them from their desks as they pass by.

“You work in an accounting firm?” Shane asks once inside Park’s office. The office is bare bones except for a desk, a few chairs, and a computer. “Depressing digs.”

“My cousin’s firm,” Park says, closing the door behind them and sitting in his desk chair. “So what happened after you told Grant?”

Shane plops down on a chair. She pulls out her phone from her pocket and places it on Park’s desk. “He freaked out.”

173 “Not surprised…” Park mutters under his breath.

Shane grins at Park’s comment. “Nice to hear that you’re on my side. He told me

that he couldn’t risk having an affair, let alone a child of wedlock. He said that this

pregnancy could compromise his Senate campaign. So, later that day, he withdrew five

thousand dollars at the bank and gave me the cash in an envelope. Then he fired me. I

ended up not being pregnant, by the way. I missed a period out of stress from what was

going on between Kainoa and me. There was no baby.”

It goes quiet for some time. Even behind the closed door, Shane can hear the

clacking of keyboard keys in the distance. She clears her throat and cracks her knuckles

to create some sort of noise in the room.

Park’s face is blank. “What’d you do with the money?”

“It’s in my apartment. Still in the envelope.”

Park sighs and grabs his phone. “I’m calling my former colleague at H.P.D.

before it gets too late,” he says.

Shane stands and motions to him that she’s going to the restroom. She exits the

office and asks someone in the hallway for directions. Once inside the restroom, she

splashes some water on her face, dries her skin with scratchy paper towels. Somehow, she now feels lighter, not as weighed down as she did earlier. She looks at her

appearance in the restroom mirror. The color has returned to her cheeks. Her skin

doesn’t seem as sallow. She closes her eyes briefly and thinks about what’s going to

happen. Park calling H.P.D. with a lead. Channing and Lindsay will be H.P.D.’s

problem now.

174 Shane leaves the restroom and walks out in the hallway, but stops when she hears

a voice talking to the receptionist. “I’m here to see a Detective Park,” the voice says,

“and, no, I don’t have an appointment.” It sounds familiar, a voice that she’s heard

before. Shane takes a few steps, peeks around the corner, and sees a sharp business suit and dark hair. She then recognizes the mainland accent belonging to Joshua Wright.

Shane freezes and reaches for her cell phone, but she realizes that it’s not in her pocket. She didn’t grab it when she left for the bathroom. It’s still on Park’s desk. Her heart beats with such intensity that she’s afraid that Wright can hear the sound through her chest. She closes her eyes briefly when she thinks of what to do, but she hears the receptionist say that Detective Park isn’t in his office. “He was here a moment ago,” the receptionist says, “but he seems to have left his desk.”

“Is it possible for me to wait in his office?”

“I’m sorry, but our office policy is to have guests wait in the reception area.”

“What a stupid policy,” Wright replies.

Shane rushes by the bathroom and bursts through the door at the opposite end of the hallway. She passes by the suite’s kitchen area, but backpedals and turns into the break room, causing a few employees to look up from their coffee and stare at her. A phone is bolted to the wall, with an extension list taped next to it. Shane grabs the receiver and skims the listing for Park’s office extension. She dials the extension and hears the ring. The phone keeps ringing and she eventually gets Park’s voice mail greeting. She slams the receiver down and walks back into the hallway, ignoring the confused chatter of the employees in the break room.

175 Shane walks in the opposite direction, around the entire suite, until she reaches

Park’s office. She tries the knob, but the door is locked. He left. “Shit,” she mutters as

she walks slowly down the hall, praying that Wright took the next elevator back to the

lobby. When she rounds the corner, she heads back towards the reception area. Her

heart is still racing, and her palms are slick. She takes a few more steps and the reception

area is in full view. And so is Park.

“We had a visitor,” Shane whispers when she reaches him. She takes her phone

from him and puts it in her pocket.

“I know,” he says, then jerks a thumb in another direction. “C’mon, we better

take the stairs.”

Shane follows Park to the stairwell door next to the restroom. The air in the

stairwell corridor is cool, but stagnant. Shane climbs down the gray concrete stairs,

keeping close behind Park.

“When I got off the phone, I decided to wait for you in the reception area,” Park

says. “I almost turned the corner when I heard Wright talking to the receptionist. I

recognized his voice from that video we watched on Grant’s website. I waited in the

hallway until he left.”

“Channing must’ve tipped him off,” Shane replies. She feels her phone buzz in

her pocket, and she pulls it out and looks at the screen. A message from Jackson from

half an hour ago. She keeps her phone in her hand and decides to check it when they

reach the ground level.

“Yeah, and he probably wants the files from you,” Park says. “We better avoid your loft.”

176 They scurry down the flights of stairs. Shane’s legs burn, but she shakes them out when they reach the ground floor. They exit to the lobby through a door at the base of the stairs. Shane looks down at her phone and checks the text from Jackson: “hey shane, need to stop by office. forgot my homework. sorry.”

Shane’s muscles tense and she looks up at Park. “Shit. Jackson is going back to

the office. We need to get there fast. Wright is probably on his way there.” She runs out of the lobby and into Bishop Square, which is empty in the mid-afternoon, and heads in the direction of Hotel Street. Panic spreads through her body as she sprints the five

blocks towards Chinatown, ignoring Park yelling at her about driving instead. Dozens of

pedestrians stare at her as she dodges past them, her shoes smacking the pavement with

each step. She’s not sure of what will happen if Jackson is at the office if Wright gets

there. She prays that she’ll get there in time.

The loft’s door is wide open. Shane runs up the stairs two at a time, shouting

Jackson’s name as she storms in the room. The front area of the loft is in chaos. Papers are strewn across the floor. Jackson’s chair is overturned. His computer is knocked to the ground, the screen shattered. Jackson’s messenger bag is on the floor, the contents spilling onto the ground. His cell phone is smashed in pieces.

They took Jackson. Shane’s heaving chest burns from running. Sweat stings her eyes. A sob coughs out of her throat, mixing with the whiskey remnants. She’s unsure of what to do. First Jenna’s accident, and now Jackson. It’s her fault that Jackson is in

177 danger. She had promised Jerald that she would take care of his brother. Now he’s missing.

Her phone rings from the front pocket of her jeans. She closes her eyes and answers it without looking at the screen. “Jackson’s not here, Russ.”

“He’s with me.”

Shane freezes when she hears the voice of Joshua Wright. She hears Jackson’s muffled voice in the background. “Let him go, Wright,” she growls through clenched teeth. “I swear, if you fucking hurt him I will—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Wright says coolly, “hold on there. Now you have files of mine, and I really need them back. I think an exchange is due, don’t you think?”

Shane balls her free hand into a fist and slams it onto the top of Jackson’s desk.

“I’ll bring you the files if you don’t harm Jackson. Where do I meet you?”

“Portlock Point in half an hour. The construction site. Enter through the wooden wall. If you’re late, I’ll put a bullet in your intern’s head.”

“All right.”

“Also, come alone. No friends.”

After Wright hangs up, Shane walks over to her desk and grabs the flash drive containing the files. She tucks it into her pocket. Before she walks out the door, she looks down at her phone and looks up Park’s number. Her thumb wavers over the “Call” button as she decides whether to continue with the call. She clears the screen and puts her phone in her pocket as she walks to her car.

178 The sunset casts an orange glow on Portlock Point, the color reflecting off the wooden walls blocking the construction site. Shane parks her car across from the site, in

the cul-de-sac at the end of the road, near the beach access to Spitting Caves. She sits in

the driver’s seat for a few minutes, staring ahead at the trees lining the right side of the

lane. She wonders if she should call her sister. Maybe she should call her father. This is

the moment that she’s going to die, after all. They would probably want to hear from her

for the last time.

It’s her last evening alive. She looks at the sunset beaming on the trees and the

walls, and remembers being six-years-old, at the beach with her father, a year before her

mother left. They were watching the sunset at Magic Island, after a family day picnic

with some H.P.D. officers’ families. Mattie was with their mother, napping on a mat on

the grass, and Shane was sitting on the sand with their father. Baron had his arm around

her, and he said that the sunset looked like passion orange juice. She had told that story

to Kainoa once, that time they watched the sunset at China Walls.

Shane leans her head on the seat’s headrest and runs through the events of the last

few days. Kainoa. He’s the reason for all of this. She probably should feel angry with

him, or maybe disappointed, but she can’t blame him for what she’s about to face. She

could’ve let things lie, not given into her curiosity. She wonders when Kainoa decided

that this would have to be the life for him, making deals and pulling strings, all for the

sake of his “future.” It couldn’t have been when she used to know him. Although maybe

he had those intentions after all.

179 Her phone rings. It’s Park, calling again for the tenth time. She picks up the phone and debates whether she should answer, but instead she tosses the phone on the passenger seat.

She gets out of the car and walks towards the construction site. The door to the site is partially open. She takes a few deep breaths, smelling the sourness of the cut wood, and walks through the door. The walls block out most of the sunlight, and the air inside the site is cooler. Gravel and dirt crunch under her shoes.

“Nice of you to join us.”

Joshua Wright stands in the middle of the construction site, next to a pile of lumber and bags of topsoil. Designer sunglasses cover his eyes, and he’s dressed in an expensive suit. He smiles at Shane and gestures for her to come closer. “I didn’t expect for you to be so pretty,” he says when Shane stands in front of him. “Channing’s description didn’t give you much justice.”

“Where’s Jackson?” Shane growls.

“Files first,” Wright says. “Hand them over and you’ll see your friend.”

Shane reaches into her pocket and whips the flash drive at Wright’s designer shoes. “There, you have your fucking files. Now where’s Jackson?”

Wright crouches down to pick up the flash drive. “He’s fine,” he says, wiping off the dirt with his hands. He puts it in the pocket of his suit jacket. “Channing, bring him out.”

A bruised-looking Channing Wong brings Jackson out from behind the piles of lumber. The kid’s arms and hands are tied behind his back. Jackson’s jeans and polo shirt are soaked and dirty with soil and blood. The kid has a puffy, cut lip, and his left

180 eye is swollen. Otherwise, he looks okay for the most. Jackson looks at Shane and

presses his lips together in a half-smile.

“Jackson!” Shane yells as she rushes towards him. She stops, her feet skidding on

the dirt, when Channing Wong points a revolver at her face.

“Hold it,” Channing says, his voice rising. He wraps his arm around Jackson’s

neck. “Do you really think that we’re going to let you two off the hook? After all the

shit that you uncovered? Where’s that other guy?”

Shane can barely hear Channing, as her beating heart is deafening in her ears.

“He’s not here,” she spits. “I’m alone. At least let the kid go. He had nothing to do with

this.”

“No, Shane, I’m staying here with you,” Jackson says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Channing shouts, pushing the barrel of the gun into Jackson’s temple. Jackson winces, but stares ahead at Shane.

Wright clears his throat and adjusts his sunglasses on his face. “Now, Channing, that wasn’t in the agreement. We decided that we weren’t going to kill them here. We’ll shoot them and push the bodies into the ocean.”

Channing stares wildly at Wright. “Are you fucking kidding me, Josh? Just do it here.”

“Channing, we can’t have the bodies here, polluting the site. Come on, let’s walk them out. It’s already been decided.”

“What?!” Channing exclaims, spittle flying out of his mouth. “You have got to be kidding me. Are you out of your fucking mi—”

“What is going on here, boys?”

181 Shane’s head snaps to the side, in the direction of an unseen voice yelling from

the entrance to the construction site. The voice is familiar, but she can’t place it. She

looks at the door, which is fully open, and sees the silhouette of a figure, darkened by the

sunset. The figure walks closer to them, and eventually becomes visible. Shane’s eyes

widen when she sees the face.

“Why does this have to be such an issue?” Milton Grant, dressed in an aloha shirt

and slacks, asks as he walks towards them, his back towards the entrance. “I’m supposed

to be meeting friends for drinks in half an hour. Let’s get on with this. Stick with the

plan.”

“I told him that we need to walk them over to the drop off,” Wright says, picking

at a piece of lint on his suit jacket. “Channing won’t listen, as usual. I don’t know what

Kainoa was thinking by bringing you aboard. I told him that you’re a loose cannon.”

“Fuck you, Josh,” Channing says. He looks frantically at Milton Grant. “Look,

I’m shooting them now—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Milton says. He points a finger at Shane. “We can’t kill

them on site. That’s too risky.” He turns and gives Shane a smile. “See what happens

when you’re snooping around where you shouldn’t be looking, dear?”

Shane stares at Kainoa’s features in Milton’s lined face. She can see Kainoa’s

body in Milton’s stance; hear Kainoa in Milton’s voice. “You,” she says, staring at

Milton with wild eyes, “you’re behind this? What about Kainoa?”

Milton eyes soften at the mentioning of Kainoa’s name. “Kainoa did his part,” he says. “He needed to find a way to make a decent living. He couldn’t support a wife and

182 two children on $48,000 a year. He already had the means to get this project started, and

I needed him to do this part to help the family business.”

“What family?” Shane asks.

Wright steps forward. “Our family,” he says. “The Wright family.”

It then dawns on Shane as she looks at Milton and Wright. She remembers

reading Milton’s name in the paper, in Kainoa’s obituary. Milton W. Grant. “Milton

Wright Grant?” she says slowly.

“We needed a way to solidify our family’s future here,” Milton says. “Jeremy

couldn’t assist us in any way, but at least he’s making a name for himself in California.

Joshua contacted me about his rental plans, which were being blocked by stupid water ordinances. We had to find away around it. You know how it is in Hawai‘i. We always help ‘ohana.”

‘Ohana. Family. Helping each other, helping your loved ones. Shane now realizes why Kainoa resented his father so much. She understands why Kainoa resented that his brother moved to the mainland. Jeremy didn’t want to start his practice there. He wanted to get away from their family.

Milton shakes his head. “You must understand that our plan won’t succeed if what you uncovered gets out. Anyway, enough of this chatter. We have to take care of you now.” He looks at Channing and holds out his hand. “Channing, hand me the gun.

Josh, take the kid to the drop off.”

Channing throws Jackson to the ground. Jackson is silent as he falls on his side, at Wright’s feet. Wright grabs Jackson by his shirt, helps him to his feet. Channing

183 reluctantly places the revolver into Milton’s outstretched palm. “I dunno,” Channing mutters, “I really don’t—”

Channing’s words are cut off when Milton Grant shoots him in the chest. Blood splatters everywhere as Channing flies back and lands on the ground. Shane jumps, cries out in shock as Channing writhes on the ground. He chokes, coughs, makes a gurgling sound as blood fills his chest and throat. The soil around his body turns dark.

“Christ,” Wright says as he glances at Channing, “so much for not polluting the site.” He pushes Jackson towards the exit. In the fading sunlight, Shane can make out tears streaking Jackson’s cheeks.

“He was useless,” Milton says once Channing stops moving. “I don’t know why my son put his trust in that idiot. He almost cost us the entire operation.” He looks at

Shane with eyes filled with pity. “So you’re the one who my son was sleeping with?

Channing told me about you.”

“Did you kill Kainoa?” Shane asks, her voice barely a whisper.

Although his silhouette is barely visible from the light in the entrance, Shane can see Milton’s grayish eyebrows rise to sharp arches, then fall. “I didn’t kill my son,” he says. “He died because of his surfing. He spent more time in the water than he did in school. He could’ve been accomplished like his brother, but he almost flunked out of

Punahou, and later college. In order to keep him enrolled I had to pull some strings with the dean of his department at USC, a family friend.” His voice wavers as tears pour from his eyes. “My baby boy, he never learned. Always messing around. He never took things seriously. Having affairs, sleeping with employees. I’m glad that my son ended

184 his affair with you. It wasn’t good for his career. Although, he doesn’t need to worry about it now. My poor boy…”

Shane watches Milton wipe tears from his eyes. She thinks back to her conversations with Kainoa about their absent fathers how they never seemed to live up to their expectations. Now, as she faces death, she wonders if she ever lived up to his expectations. One thing she knows, though, is that Baron Nohara was proud to be her father. This she knows for sure.

“Okay, I really need to get going,” Milton says, coughing to clear the tears from his throat, glancing down at the gold watch on his wrist. “Such a pity, you are good- looking. I can see why my son fancied you.” He lifts the revolver and points it at her face.

Shane holds her breath and closes her eyes. The breeze rustles the trees outside the site. The ocean waves crash against the rocks below them. She takes in these sounds, the last sounds she will ever hear, and flinches. Milton Grant lets out a cry. Shane opens her eyes in time to see Milton Grant fall forward, the revolver flying from his grip. He falls onto his side, grabs his calf in pain. A dark spot forms on his leg.

Shane then sees H.P.D. SWAT filing into the construction site. She stands, frozen with confusion, as a plainclothes officer runs up to her. “Are you hurt?” he asks, placing an arm on her shoulder.

“No,” Shane says as he leads her to the exit. She clasps her hands to stop the shaking, but it won’t stop. She feels cold. “How did you know that I was here?”

“Russ Park called me, but I think someone else called 911. Park is an old friend from our days on homicide.”

185 Shane follows the officer out to the street. The sun is almost set. Two officers slap handcuffs on Wright and are pushing him into the backseat of a squad car. An

ambulance is parked next to Shane’s car. Park is talking to Jackson, who stares at the

pavement, as a paramedic dabs Jackson’s face with some gauze.

Shane hurries towards them and throws her arms around Jackson, who hugs her

with limp arms. “Stupid kid,” she says into his ear. “You really don’t know how to

listen.”

Jackson winches as the paramedic continues to dab his cut lip. “I know…” he

mumbles. “I tink I learned my lesson.”

“You shouldn’t be the one to talk, Shane,” Park says, tossing her a blanket. “You

should’ve told me where you were going.”

Shane steps back from Jackson and frowns at Park. She doesn’t know whether

she wants to hug Park or punch him in the face. Instead, she glares at him, since Park

saved her ass. “How did you know that I was here, Russ?”

“I got to the loft and it was empty. When you didn’t answer your phone, I figured

that you met with Wright. I didn’t know where you would be. I called Christine Grant.”

Shane raises her eyebrows at the mentioning of Christine. “What? Really?”

Park nods. “She didn’t know anything about her husband’s involvement with the

hotel group or what was going down. Apparently after the father-in-law found out that

she talked to me, he kicked out her mother, and was keeping Christine and the children

under house arrest. She pieced things together when she overheard him on the phone

with Josh Wright. Jeremy Grant found her cell phone in his father’s home office, and

gave it to Christine.”

186 “What happened to Lindsay Holt?”

“H.P.D. stopped her at the airport, just as she was boarding a plane to San

Francisco.”

Shane turns back to Jackson, who sips water from a straw. The fear that she felt earlier is now replaced with guilt. She looks at the kid and thinks about Jerald, who was like a brother to Shane. Jackson is the same. “Jacks, I don’t even know what to say other than I’m sorry about all of this.”

For the first time, Jackson doesn’t say anything, but instead squeezes Shane’s hand.

187 CHAPTER 10 TWO WEEKS LATER MONDAY

It stops raining once Shane pulls up to the house. The early morning downpour has finally lessened to a light drizzle that gets caught in Shane’s hair. Shane stands in front of the property and looks at the black iron fence, the manicured lawn, the hibiscus

hedge. She’s not used to seeing so much green, as her Chinatown neighborhood is all

street and sidewalk. She doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s a nice place, even if it was

purchased with illegal money. A realtor’s sign stands next to the driveway. Shane

wonders if someone has placed an offer yet. She looks at the direction of Portlock Point,

where the construction property has been seized by the State. So far there’s no news as to

what will happen to the development now that Joshua Wright and Milton Grant have

been arrested.

An hour earlier, she had met Park for breakfast in town. It was surprising to see

him in jeans and a polo shirt. She figures that he dressed down since it’s a state holiday.

He had made a quip about Shane finally looking somewhat presentable in a blouse and a

pair of nice jeans.

“You don’t have to do this,” he had said as he cut into his Denver omelet. “I already talked to her on the phone after everything happened.”

The visit was Shane’s idea. She knew that she didn’t need to be there, but it was the right thing to do. “I know,” Shane had said. “It’ll be fast. I have to meet a client

after this anyway.”

188 “Oh? You have a case?”

“Possibly. An initial consultation.”

“Are you sure you want to go back to work so soon? Didn’t the hospital shrink say that you should wait?”

“Shut up, Russ.”

Shane thinks about Park’s concern. He’s been hovering around her lately, ensuring that she’s okay and not scarred for life. Near-death experiences are traumatizing, sure, but Shane’s been fine so far. She’s had dreams of the revolver pointed at her face, woken up with her clothes soaked in sweat, but she finally started sleeping through the night. At first Park’s distress was annoying as hell, but now she doesn’t mind it so much. She looks up at the house in front of her and enters through the black gate, which is surprisingly unlocked. As she walks on the short path from the get to the front door, she smoothes her top and her hair, combing through the water drops.

She takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell.

After some time, the door opens slowly. A little boy stands in the doorway, a dirty stuffed animal dangling from his hand. He looks up at Shane with the eyes of his father. “Hi,” he says, tugging on his ear lobe with his free hand.

Shane gives the boy a smile. “Is your mommy home?” she asks.

“She’s washing dishes. Uncle Jeremy made waffles for breakfast.”

“Auwē, Wessie!” a frantic voice calls from behind him. An older Chinese woman runs towards the door and grabs the boy by the arm. “What are you doing? You know that you’re not supposed to open the door by yourself!”

“She’s here to see Mommy,” Wessie says to his grandmother.

189 Mrs. Wong eyes Shane as if she’s seen her before and then steps aside to let her

into the house. “Sorry about that. Please, come in. You can leave your shoes on the door mat.” She holds onto her grandson’s arm and walks Shane to the living room.

“You can wait here. I’ll tell Christine that you’re here to see her. Please, have a seat on the sofa.”

Shane raises an eyebrow at the rectangular sofa and remains standing, not wanting to touch anything. She looks around the living room, at the expensive décor, and wonders if Kainoa thought this was worth it. Was this what he really wanted? She lets out a sigh and shakes her head.

After a few minutes, Christine Grant glides into the room. She’s dressed in a black floor-length sleeveless dress, her make-up and hair perfectly done. “Good morning,” she says as she enters the room, manicured hands rubbing her pregnant belly.

When her eyes fall on Shane, her lips tense, and her eyes narrow slightly. “Please, have a seat.”

Shane sits on the sofa, surprised by the comfortable spring of the cushions, as she almost expected them to be stuffed with cash. “I hope it’s not a bad time.”

Christine waves her off with her hand as she eases onto a chair adjacent to the sofa. “Well, I was in the kitchen, cleaning up the kids’ breakfast dishes. Wessie is off for Kūhiō Day, and I wanted to spend time with him and Wendy before I go back to work tomorrow.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Christine nods slightly. “So I’m assuming that you’re here to talk to me about what happened.”

190 “Off the record,” Shane says.

“Okay. Talk.”

Shane clears her throat slightly, remembering why she wasn’t a fan of Christine in the first place. “First, I’ll offer my, uh, condolences for what happened to Channing.”

Christine shakes her head, curled waves bouncing around her shoulders. Her bottom lip quivers and she looks down at her hands folded in her lap. “I wish things could have been better for my brother,” she says, her voice shaky. “We weren’t close, but I did love him. Channing was only a little boy when his mother died, and I think our father spoiled him to make him happy.” She uses her ring finger to dab tears welling in the inner corner of her eyes and clears her throat. “He just wanted to party all the time.

After our father died, he kicked my mother out of their house in Mānoa. He always had this evil stepmother issue, I guess. My mother had been a housewife and didn’t have many assets aside from what my father left her, so I had her move in with us.”

“That was nice of you,” Shane says.

“Yes, well, I’m her only child. Who else will take her in? Anyway, my brother and Kainoa never really got along, so it was strange that Kainoa tapped him to be his partner with the non-profit. Initially I thought Kainoa wanted to give Channing a sense of direction. I guess I was wrong…”

Shane breaks the silence that forms after Christine trails off. “Also, thanks for calling the cops.”

“Well, Detective Park said that you were in trouble. I couldn’t have anyone harmed because of my father-in-law. He pretty much forced us to stay with him after

191 Kainoa’s funeral. I didn’t understand why until I overheard his call with Joshua Wright.

I wanted to do the right thing.”

The room is silent again. The childrens’ laughter tinkles in the background.

Shane had planned to meet with Christine only to thank her for calling the cops, but another thought lingers on her mind. “What did you think Kainoa was trying to email me about?” she asks.

“Good god,” Christine mutters. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I have no idea. Don’t you know?”

“No, Kainoa and I hadn’t spoken in years.”

“Right, whatever you say. I figured that he was trying to reconnect with you to relive the past. Rekindling the flame.”

“What does that mean?” Shane asks.

Christine scoffs. “Please, Shane, do you think I’m an idiot? I know about you two. You were sleeping together at the office.”

Shane’s stomach caves into itself, as if her breath is sucked out of her chest. She opens her mouth, but she can’t find the words. She doesn’t defend herself, since

Christine knows the truth.

“I knew from the first time I met you,” Christine says. “It was that one afternoon

I came by the Capitol to meet Kainoa for lunch. I could tell by the shocked look in your eyes when you saw me. I didn’t want to believe it, that he would cheat on me. He seemed so perfect, such a catch. He was smart, handsome. He came from a, well, somewhat good family. I didn’t want to admit that he had any faults. Obviously he had many, you being only one of them.”

192 Shane grits her teeth together. “Okay, fine,” she says. “Yes, Kainoa and I were

sleeping together before you two got married. I won’t deny that. It started when you two were broken up.”

“We were never broken up.”

Shane rolls her eyes. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago, and I regret it. I still don’t understand what that has to do with him contacting me before he died.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Christine snaps, leaning forward in her chair and pointing a finger at Shane. “I know that you two were at it again!”

Shane’s jaw drops. “Okay, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” she says.

“Please, don’t try to deny it, Shane!”

“Hey Chrissy?” a male voice says from the other side of the room.

Shane looks up and sees Kainoa standing in the entrance to the room. He’s wearing faded boardshorts and a t-shirt, and holds a plate in his hands. A dishrag is flung over his shoulder. She blinks again, and realizes that it’s not Kainoa. It’s Jeremy Grant.

“Oh, Jeremy,” Christine says, grabbing the armrests to hoist herself up from the chair. “Do you need something? Is it the kids?”

“Don’t get up,” Jeremy replies, raising his hands. “Sorry, I was drying dishes in the kitchen and I heard voices getting louder.” He pauses and looks at Shane. “Hi, I’m

Jeremy.”

“Shane. Nice to meet you.”

193 Jeremy’s jaw sets when Shane says her name. His eyes narrow slightly.

“Everything okay, Chrissy?”

Christine nods. “Yes, sorry,” she says with a suddenly warm smile. “We’re just talking about what happened. No reason for alarm.”

“Okay,” Jeremy says.

Shane’s not sure, but as Jeremy leaves the room, she wears that Christine watches her brother-in-law a bit too long, and with a soft, admiring gaze. She looks around the room, shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and then hesitates before she starts talking, as if she’s interrupting something. “Look, Christine, Kainoa and I were done the day that he fired my ass. He said that I would compromise his campaign; jeopardize his future as a politician. Did you know that he paid me off? He gave me money so that I wouldn’t talk.”

Confusion replaces the anger on Christine’s face. “Well, I know he was fucking somebody regularly before he died,” she says quietly. “His behavior changed, just like how it was when you were around. He’d slip off and make phone calls. He grew distant.

He’d come home late at night, smelling like alcohol, even though he supposedly quit drinking once we had the kids. He hardly wanted to have sex.” She places a hand on her belly and stares at the carpet. “I assumed it was you, based on those emails.”

“Well, it wasn’t me, Christine,” Shane says. Her muscles feel stiff, tense, and the room gets warm. She wonders why she even came here in the first place. She shifts her weight to her feet to get off the sofa, but Christine starts talking again.

“I thought,” Christine says, looking up at Shane. Her eyes are glassy with tears.

“I thought that he was such a good person, you know? I knew that he occasionally

194 cheated on me with random girls at the Capitol. I heard the rumors from people, from my attorney friends there, but I didn’t know what to do. I just ignored it for the most. I don’t know what for. All of this?”

Shane sinks into the couch cushions. “You have a good life—”

“Shane, I envied you. You were able to leave that place, do something for yourself. Kainoa, all he wanted me to do was stay at home and have babies. He wanted me to give up my career. It was what his father thought was best, he said. Before she died, his mother insisted that I become a stay-at-home-mom after Wessie was born. But how could we afford it? How could I quit my job when he was making peanuts? How could we afford to live here, in Hawai‘i Kai? Now that I think about it, he probably decided to help his father with securing that hotel deal so that he could be the breadwinner. It was so weird, how he always tried to impress his father. Milton just controlled everything.”

Shane watches Christine, sitting in her expensive chair, wearing her expensive

dress, and looks slightly past her, at the senator’s picture on the opposite wall. She

realizes what Kainoa wanted from her during their time together. It wasn’t just about

sex, or cheating on his wife, or their closeness or their connection. It was about being

free to do what he wanted, without having to answer to anyone about anything, nobody

asking questions. Shane grieved the loss of that relationship for long time, because

Kainoa made her feel like she was special and accomplished and meant something. But

now Shane knows that Kainoa was the one who was seeking acceptance and approval,

and in his need for it, almost pulled Shane into his mess. At least she was lucky to get

out before she was up to her neck.

195 When their conversation is over, Christine walks Shane to the front door. “So

how’s the family taking everything?” Shane asks as she slips her sandals on her feet. “It

must be hard.”

Christine shrugs, looks up at Shane. “The kids are too young to understand. My

mother is a wreck, of course, but I’m dealing with that. Jeremy has been a great help

with the kids though. He said that he might move his practice here, to be closer to us.”

“Oh, that’s nice of him.”

“Very,” Christine says. “It’s funny how different he is from his father and from

Kainoa.”

“Well, good luck selling the house,” Shane says. “And with everything.”

Christine nods. “Thanks, you too. Oh, and good luck with your practice.”

Shane smiles her thanks, and walks down the driveway. Back in the car, Shane

turns the key in the ignition just as her phone rings. She looks down at the caller ID.

Mason Shigetani. She lightly taps the corner of her phone to her lips to calm her surprise.

She hasn’t heard from him since that night at the hospital. She hasn’t visited Jenna yet,

but she mailed a “Get Well Soon” card to the Shigetani house last week. “Uh, hey

Mase,” she says when she answers the call. “How are you?”

“Hi Shane,” Mason replies. “I’m doing okay. I hope I wasn’t interrupting

anything.”

“No, no. I’m on my way to meet some clients. How’s Jenna?”

“Some days are good, some are bad. You know how it is. Her legs are still in their casts, so she spends most of her time in the bedroom. I returned to work this week,

196 but I wish I could be there to keep her company. In fact, I’m at the office today; we don’t

get the holiday off.”

Shane leans her head back against the headrest and closes her eyes. She almost

lets out a sigh, but instead clears her throat. “So what’s up?”

“Last night I was going through Jenna’s bag of her clothes that I received from

the hospital. Inside the bag was a CD that was found in her pockets. I asked her about it,

but her memories of the events leading up to the accident are fuzzy. I popped in the disc and I saw a folder named ‘For Shane.’ I didn’t want to look at the contents, but if you want, I can drop it off at your place later tonight.”

Shane almost gasps in surprise. “Do you have CD now?”

“No, it’s at home.”

She tells Mason that she’ll swing by his house, then hangs up the phone and starts the drive back to town. Those must be the files that Jenna wanted to show her. She completely forgot about them. At first she wonders if she should delete the files, or toss the CD without looking at it, but that familiar itch of nosiness crawls through her skin.

It’s too hard to ignore the excitement of uncovering something tingling in her chest.

Although it didn’t seem relevant anymore, she might as well look at the files. Just for kicks. It wouldn’t hurt.

Mrs. Shigetani glares at Shane from behind the screen door. “Well, when Mason called he said you were only picking up something,” the older woman asks, balancing

197 baby Mahealani on her hip. The twin has a few grains of rice stuck to her face. “So what else do you need?”

Shane fights the urge to roll her eyes or cuss out the old lady. Instead, she drops the CD case into her handbag and asks if she can see Jenna. She sets her jaw and readies herself for a “no” answer, but is surprised when Mrs. Shigetani opens the door and allows

Shane inside the house.

The living room is mostly clean aside from baby toys littered throughout a quilt on the off-white carpet. A half-folded basket of laundry rests on the leather sofa. At the coffee table sits Makana, strapped in his baby seat, stuffing chopped saimin noodles into his mouth. A talking dog cartoon plays on the TV.

“Jenna’s in the master bedroom,” Mrs. Shigetani says, pointing towards the back of the house. She places Mahealani into the baby seat next to Makana. She doesn’t look up at Shane, and resumes feeding both of the twins.

“Thanks,” Shane mutters as she leaves the room and heads down the hallway.

The carpet under Shane’s feet feels damp from the morning rain. She hasn’t been here since the twins were born. They were born a month early, and while the twins were in neonatal intensive care, Jenna chose “Mahealani,” meaning “moonlight” because the twins were born at night, and “Makana,” meaning “gift” since he almost died during delivery. The white hallway walls are now covered with framed pictures of the babies,

Jenna, and Mason, along with pictures of Mason’s brother’s and sister’s families. Shane walks past the twin’s nursery, the office area, Mason’s mother’s room, and reaches the master bedroom at the end of the hall. The door is open, and she stands in the doorframe and knocks on the door.

198 Jenna is half-reclined on the bed, her upper body resting on pillows propped

against the headboard. She’s wearing black gym shorts and a pink tank top, her legs and an arm wrapped in casts. A torso brace is visible through her shirt. Some of the faint yellow or purplish bruising on her face and neck has faded. Her unbrushed blonde hair hangs around her shoulders. She looks up from the TV and her eyes widen when she sees

Shane. She doesn’t speak.

“Hey,” Shane says.

Jenna’s voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. She clears her throat, coughs, and reaches with her free arm to grab a cup on the nightstand. Shane rushes to the bed and picks up the cup, moving the straw towards her friend.

Jenna takes a few sips of water and leans back. “Thanks,” she says. She watches

Shane for a moment before telling her to sit on the nursing chair near the bed.

Shane sits on the chair and props her elbows on her knees. “How are you?” she asks, resting her chin on her clasped hands.

“Getting better, I suppose,” Jenna says slowly, turning down the volume on the

TV. “It gets boring, sitting here all day, nothing to do but watch TV.”

“I bet,” Shane says with a grin.

Jenna’s eyes narrow.

“Did you get my card?”

“Yeah.”

Shane looks down at the floor, digs her toes into the carpet. The seconds of silence add up. For a moment, she thinks about how they first met, when Jenna saw

Shane wandering around the Chamber level, going walking in a square multiple times in

199 her search for the House Chief Clerk’s office, where Shane had to drop off paperwork.

She and Jenna used to shoot the shit about anything, talk for hours about random topics like food or beer or reality television. Now Shane doesn’t know what to say.

Jenna leans her head back on the pillows. “Look, Shane—”

“I’m sorry,” Shane says. She takes a deep breath and hears the shakiness in her voice. “This whole thing was so fucked up. I didn’t think—”

“That this would happen?” Jenna asks.

“Yeah.”

“Or maybe you didn’t think that something bad could happen as a result of your digging?”

“Of course not.

“Or you didn’t think that perhaps you should leave everything as it was? Instead of getting yourself involved, you should’ve left Kainoa’s business alone.”

“You heard about Milton Grant and the rental properties?”

“I watched it on the news. So good for you, cased closed. Did you finally get the answer as to why Kainoa wanted to contact you?” Jenna shakes her head at Shane’s silence. “You know, I didn’t tell you about this to protect you, but now, in retrospect, maybe I should’ve said something. It could’ve prevented all of this.” She points at her outstretched legs. “Funny how they say ‘hindsight is always 20/20.’”

Shane bites her bottom lip. “What?”

Jenna pauses, her brow furrows. “The day before Kainoa died, I caught the elevator from the Chamber, when Kainoa called to hold the door. We rode the elevator to

200 the fourth floor, and he asked me how to get in touch with you. I lied and told Kainoa that I didn’t talk to you anymore. I’m not sure what he wanted.”

Shane’s jaw drops slightly. She thinks about her conversations with Jenna after finding out about the emails. Nothing ever came up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, Shane, I remember how it was when you worked there, when you were mentioned in those rumors about Kainoa. People would ask me, ‘I bet that Shane girl is fucking her boss’ and I would always deny it since we were friends and you never said anything. Then, of course, I squeeze out of you that you really are fucking your boss, who was still dating his girlfriend. I remember when you were upset that he wouldn’t leave his girlfriend, and the days that I forced you to get lunch with me so you’d eat something that day. I remember we’d go to bars and I’d watch you get smashed, then I’d drive you home as you cried in the passenger seat. Then you left the Capitol, and I was happy, finally, now that you were away from him and that toxic relationship.

“Now I wonder, maybe if I had told you that he asked about you, then maybe you would’ve contacted him before he died, and you would’ve resisted digging around in his shit, and you wouldn’t have found the rental property files, then they wouldn’t have mistaken me as you! Or maybe you would’ve been hurt instead of me!” Jenna winces and grabs her torso with her free hand.

Shane leans forward to help her friend, who waves her off. “Jesus,” she mutters.

Jenna lets out a deep breath when the pain subsides. “I didn’t mean that I wanted you to get hurt.”

“No, it’s fine, I deserve it,” Shane says. “I deserve a lot more than that.”

“I don’t disagree with you.”

201 “I never wanted you to get hurt, Jenna. I’m sorry that this happened because of

me. I shouldn’t have had you look for those files. Nothing should have happened to you.

It was me they wanted, not you.”

Jenna sighs. “I know, Shane, I know. Look, I just need time, okay? To heal. I

mean, I was hit by a truck for Christ’s sake.”

Shane lifts her head. “A truck? Not an SUV, like a Range Rover or a

Mercedes?”

Jenna shakes her head. “No, it was a black truck. I think it came down Beretania,

but I didn’t see it at all until it was right next to me. Why?”

“Hmm,” Shane says, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. “It’s not important.”

“Did you get the burned CD from Mason?”

Shane nods. “His mom gave it to me.”

“I don’t remember what’s on it, but I guess I was supposed to show you

something.”

“Yeah, files you found.”

Jenna nods in thought. “By the way, the other day I realized that I left my and

Kainoa’s laptops on my desk at work, so I wanted to have Mason pick them up for me so

that I could hold them for safe-keeping. When I called Tech Support to ask about the

laptops, my coworkers couldn’t find them.

“Then, my coworker, that new kid Dustin, called me later that day to say that the night that I got hit, an O.M. came to our office get a computer that someone was working

on, and he might have given away my computer by accident. Dustin couldn’t recall what

the O.M. looked like, since he just started that day. I asked him about the other

202 computer, and he said that there was only one laptop on the desk, and he gave it to the

O.M.. Kainoa’s computer might be floating around somewhere in the Capitol…”

Shane’s muscles tense with panic, but then she lets out a chuckle. “Christ, what

in the hell is gonna happen next?”

Jenna looks down at her legs. “Hopefully nothing else,” she says with a yawn. “I don’t have many more limbs or ribs to break.”

Shane watches her friend recline deeper into the pillows. She moves the water cup closer to Jenna’s side, pulls an unfolded blanket closer to Jenna’s feet. “I’ll get outta

here and let you rest.”

“Cool,” Jenna says. “Thanks for visiting.”

“No problem.”

Shane stands and then remembers something in her handbag. “Oh wait,” she

says, digging around in her bag. She grabs an unsealed, stuffed envelope, peeks at the

wad of cash, feels the weight in her hands. “Here, this is for you.”

Jenna takes the envelope and looks inside. Her jaw drops. “Shane, I can’t take

this from you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“This is a lot of money.”

“Five grand,” Shane says. “I don’t have any use for it.”

“Seriously, I can’t—”

“Jenna, really, you need the money. You’re not working right now, and you have

all those hospital bills. Please, just take it.”

203 Jenna holds up the envelope to her face and stares at the State seal printed on the envelope, the House of Representatives text printed on the return address. “Is this from…him?”

“Yes,” Shane says. “Please take it. I really don’t need it.”

“Okay, I understand,” Jenna says softly. Tears fill her eyes. “Thank you. So do you think we’ll be friends again?”

Shane shoves her hands in her pockets. “I hope so, but I assumed that you’d be in charge of that. What do you think?”

Jenna shrugs. “Sure, maybe. Not right now, but maybe later. I need time to myself, you know?”

“I understand.”

Shane wants to lean over and give Jenna a hug, but instead, she says goodbye and makes her way towards the front door. On her way through the living room, she sees

Makana and Mahealani playing on the blanket. Mrs. Shigetani is washing dishes in the kitchen nearby. The babies stare up at Shane. The twins could have lost their mother because of her, because of Shane’s need to know why Kainoa wanted to contact her. She crouches down to look at them, reaches out to touch the soft skin of their cheeks. “I don’t know when I’m gonna see you guys next,” she murmurs, letting the twins grab her fingers. They start to cry when Shane leaves, but she doesn’t stop to look back at them.

She steps outside and closes the door.

Park gets to Shane’s loft in the late afternoon, after walking from his office. She had called him earlier, asking about using his services for the client she was bringing on.

204 Something about a beneficiary trying to tap into a trust fund too early. Instead of suggesting that Shane delay working until she was emotionally ready, he told her that he would listen to the case. After everything that happened with Wright and Milton Grant, he had guessed that Shane would be a wreck, but now he feels stupid for assuming that.

He enters the door to see Jackson shutting down his computer.

“Eh, Detective,” Jackson says with a smile. The kid’s face has healed, and the bruising is already gone. He’s dressed in slim jeans, a white v-neck t-shirt, and a black blazer. “Howzit going?”

“Jackson, what are you doing here?” Park asks. “It’s a holiday. Shouldn’t you be studying somewhere more comfortable?”

Jackson laughs and rolls his eyes. “For reals. Nah, I hea cuz Shane started paying me. She’s not giving me holiday pay though. I guess we get money somehow.

Who knows how long dat gonna last.”

“Shut up, Jacks,” Shane says from behind her laptop screen. “Don’t think that after all the shit we went through, I won’t fire your ass.”

Jackson sticks his tongue out at her. “Whatevas. K den, I going now. Jerald taking shopping at Ala Moana dis aftahnoon.” He looks over his shoulder as he walks towards the door. “Eh, Shane, since Jerald in town, he said he like go pau hanas some time before he leaves. He going call you.”

“Okay,” Shane says. “Beat it already.”

Park waves goodbye to Jackson and then takes a seat on the sofa. His waist holster presses against his back. Ever since the Wright case closed, he feels the need to

205 carry the gun at all times, just in case. “I thought Jerald would want your head on a stake,” he says when the door closes.

“I don’t think Jerald’s very thrilled with me at the moment,” Shane murmurs. The blouse from that morning has been swapped for another old t-shirt, but she’s still wearing the jeans. “You know, for putting his brother in danger. Jackson wants to smooth things over with that happy hour get-together, but who knows how that’s going down. The

Aquino family wants to sue my ass, but Jackson won’t let them.”

“Isn’t he the baby?”

“Youngest of six kids.”

“Yeesh. Well, what’s going on?”

Shane stares at her computer screen. “Sorry, give me a sec. I’m looking over the draft of my client’s will.” After a few minutes, she clicks the mouse and faces Park. “So

I might need your help with one of my clients. If you’re up for it.”

“Sure, send me the information,” Park says. “So how was your visit with

Christine Grant?”

“Good,” Shane says, curtly.

Park doesn’t bother to press further, as Shane will probably never spill the details to him.

“I visited Jenna. We got to talk.”

“Oh…how’d that go?”

“Uh, fine. I picked up the CD that she meant to give to me that night. I didn’t look at the files yet.”

206 Park raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want to look at them? What if it brings

up emotions about Jenna’s accident?”

“Jesus,” Shane snaps as she pops the disc into her computer. “Just for that, I’m

going to look at them right now.”

“Fine, suit yourself,” he says as walks to the kitchen and takes a bottle of water

out of the fridge. He opens the bottle and downs half of it. He leans against the kitchen counter and looks around at the loft, thinks about getting a place like this so he can get

out of James’ office. He goes to the restroom to pee. He’s in the middle of washing his

hands, when Shane calls out to him.

“Holy shit, Russ! Get over here!”

Park rushes out of the bathroom, his hands still wet. Shane is staring wide-eyed at the computer screen. She looks up at him and points to the screen. Park dries his

hands on the thighs of his jeans and steps behind her to look over her shoulder.

On the screen is a moving slideshow of pictures. The first picture is of Kainoa

Grant, naked, on a bed, with a naked woman straddling his waist. Only the woman’s

back and ass are visible, along with straight dark hair. She’s not Christine Grant; the skin

is too tanned. The next picture is of Kainoa sitting up, holding the young woman as she

rides him. The pictures rotate to the next. Kainoa on top. Kainoa getting sucked off.

Kainoa’s head between her legs, the top of the woman’s head facing the camera. Shane

stops the slideshow on the next picture. Kainoa fucking the girl from behind, grabbing

the young woman’ waist and a small breast as she looks into the camera.

207 Park takes a step closer, looking at the young woman’s eyes on the screen.

They’re familiar eyes, large, round, lush lashes. He knows where he’s seen them, but he doesn’t remember her name. “Is that…?”

“Rianne Watanabe-Reyes,” Shane murmurs. “Cherianne.” She closes the laptop screen and pushes away from her desk. “I know who attacked Jenna. Josh Wright and

Milton Grant weren’t going after her. We need to find Rianne now.”

Park follows Shane out of the loft. Shane’s slippers slap against the wooden stairs. “I don’t know where we can find her,” Park says when they’re out on the street.

“The Capitol is closed today, so we can’t visit her at work.”

“Maybe I could call Perry,” Shane says, unlocking her car and jumping in the driver’s seat. “Ask him if he knows where she is. Well, he might blab.” She sits in the driver’s seat, drums her fingers on the steering wheel, eyes closed.

Park is about to make a suggestion when Shane’s eyes fly open. “I got it,” Shane says, starting the car. “We have to go to China Walls.”

“How would Rianne know to go there?”

Shane pulls the car onto the street. “Kainoa died at Spitting Caves, one of his two favorite places. He used to take me, and, uh, Christine, to China Walls. I remember that for the longest time, I didn’t want to go back to China Walls after Kainoa and I ended, out of fear that all this painful shit would come back to me. But that was because our relationship ended badly, and it may be different for someone who had fond memories of him. If Rianne was sleeping with him, then he probably took her there.”

Park raises his eyebrows. “Good call,” he says, buckling his seatbelt. He watches out the window as they pull out of Chinatown and head east, towards Hawai‘i Kai. He’s

208 about to ask if she can handle going to China Walls, but before he can say anything, she tells him that she’s fine to go there.

“I know I idolized him,” Shane murmurs, “had him on a pedestal. I’m glad that I got out of there before it got worse. Although, I used to think that it was worse for me, but now I realize that things got worse for him. Now I’m free to figure shit out, work on my law practice, date other men, start a new relationship.”

Park looks at Shane, eyebrows furrowed a bit. He studies her face, which is sort of pretty, and wonders what she meant. “What are you—”

“Jesus, Russ, that’s not what I meant,” Shane says with a laugh. “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”

Park feels a slight disappointment, but then shakes his head when he sees a wide grin on Shane’s face. He doesn't bother to ask her about that grin now. But maybe he will later. “Whatever,” he says. “C’mon, we have to get to China Walls.”

Shane parks her car in the cul-de-sac next to China Walls. Dark clouds hover over the Hawai‘i Kai coastline, the neighborhood cast in gray shadow. The street is empty except for a black truck parked next to one of the mansions in the neighborhood.

The wind picks up, blowing Shane’s hair around her face. She takes a deep breath of ocean air, tastes the faint salt on her tongue. “You should stay behind,” Shane says to

Park as they cross the small district park leading to the China Walls beach access way.

“You know, just in case.”

Park looks at her, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s a bad idea.”

209 “Look, Russ, for Christ’s sake, I’ll be fine. We don’t even know if she’s still

here.” She hands the keys to Park and turns towards the sandy rocks leading towards the

ocean. “I’ll be back.”

Shane climbs down the rocks, which are damp from the recent rains. Surf slaps

against the rocks, foamy water splashes in the air. She takes another step down onto a

lower rock ledge, worn smooth by years of waves hitting against the rock. A chilly blast

of wind sends goosebumps down her arms. She expects to see people with fishing poles

near the edge of the rocks, casting lines into the ocean, but the area is empty. The rock

near the water is slick from the waves. Names are carved into the rock’s surface. She climbs down another step and scans the area. To her left, about three feet further,

perched a top the only dry rock, sits Rianne Watanabe-Reyes, staring out at the horizon.

When Rianne looks up, Shane can see the signs of crying: puffy bags around her

large eyes, the bloodshot lines surrounding her irises. The young woman’s face darkens

and she stands quickly. She’s dressed in canvas shoes, jeans, a shirt, and an unzipped

hoodie, more clothing than Shane’s seen her wear. Her hair is tied back, the ends of her

ponytail blow back with the wind. “What in the hell are you doing here?” she shouts over the wind and the crashing waves.

“I was gonna ask you the same,” Shane calls. She walks closer to Rianne, stops when the girl is an arm’s length away. “This was his favorite spot, you know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. I saw the pictures of you and Kainoa.”

Rianne’s eyes widen. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” Shane says. “All of them. Every position. Very scandalous.”

210 Rianne’s lips press into a thin line. “That bitch stole Kainoa’s laptop. Those

pictures were private.”

“How did you know that Jenna even saw them?”

“That evening, I checked Kainoa’s laptop because I wanted to delete the pictures.

When I logged onto his computer, I saw that the computer wasn’t his. It was a fake. I

ran to Tech Support to ask if someone took the laptop by mistake, but nobody was there.

I saw Kainoa’s computer on her desk. I grabbed it and ran out of the office, and waited

around the corner until someone came back.” She pauses and her face darkens. “That

stupid new kid in Tech Support let me take Jenna’s laptop, which was still powered on. I

told him that it was my computer and that Jenna was working on it for me. When I

checked her computer, I saw that she burned the pictures to a CD that afternoon. She had to be stopped…”

“You tried to kill Jenna, didn’t you?” Shane says. “Don’t deny it. You tried to keep her from spreading your pictures. You didn’t want people to know about you and

Kainoa, right? That you were fucking him?”

Rianne shoves her hands into her sweatshirt pockets. “Nobody was supposed to find out. It was a secret. I promised him.”

“Who cares if anybody knows you were fucking him? He’s dead.”

Rianne shakes her head. “He told me that nobody could ever find out about us.

He said that it would hurt his career.” She blinks, tears spill out from her eyes. “It started a few years ago, after my first Mālama Kai event as a lobbyist. We were returning supplies to the Ward office. We were finally alone together, after all these years, so I tried to kiss him. At first he said no, since he was married and he was my

211 boss, but eventually he gave in. He said that we could only do it once. But we kept having sex since then, like at my apartment or in his car, or at the Senate office after he hired me. Then in March, one day, in the office, he broke it off. He told me that his wife was pregnant again, and that he had to focus on his career. He couldn’t be with me anymore.”

Shane stares at Rianne in disbelief. The girl attacked Jenna, yet she wants sympathy for being dumped by Kainoa? She rolls her eyes, but then notices the sweatshirt. It looks familiar. She’s seen it before. It’s the sweatshirt that she gave to

Kainoa, that time they watched the sunset here.

“Where did you get that jacket?” Shane asks, pointing at Rianne’s chest. “That’s

Kainoa’s sweater, isn’t it?

Rianne wraps her arms around her body, as if protecting herself from the cold.

“Kainoa was wearing it that morning,” she says, her voice distant. “I was up crying the night before, after he ended things with me. But I had to see him again, alone, just me and him. I texted him that morning, early, and asked him to meet me at Spitting Caves.

We used to have sex there sometimes. I asked him if we could do it one last time, right there. He told me that it was the last nice thing he was doing for me. We were kissing, and as he took off his sweater, I realized that I would never have him again. He wanted to go back to his pregnant wife. We were done. So then I lied and said that I was pregnant too. He freaked out, pushed me away as if I had a disease. He said told me that he couldn’t have a child out of wedlock, and I had to get an abortion. He fired me and said that he didn’t want to see me ever again. I was in shock. I said that I loved him, but

212 all he said was that this happened before and it couldn’t happen again. I asked him if that’s why you left his office, and he said yes.”

“What did you say?” Shane asks, taking a step forward. As she watches Rianne’s face, she realizes that’s what the emails were about. Need to talk about c. It wasn’t

Christine, or caucus, or Channing that he was talking about. He wasn’t contacting Shane about any of that. He was talking about Cherianne. Kainoa wanted to know what to do about Rianne, since Shane went through it herself.

“Kainoa told me about you and him,” Rianne says, her voice rising. “He told me that he had to fire you because you were pregnant with his baby. The rumors around the

Capitol were true. You were fucking him.”

“There isn’t a baby,” Shane growls. “There was never a baby.”

“Well, whatever!” Rianne shouts. “You fucked him. I knew it. I should’ve known then. The way he would talk to you. The way he would watch you in the office.

He never looked at me that way.”

Shane is motionless. Her chest is pounding, and feels like it might collapse. “Did you…push him? You killed him, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that!” Rianne wails. “He was supposed to love me.

I loved him for years, ever since I was an intern. Do you think I wanted to stuff envelopes and research bills and all that shit you made me do? I just wanted to be near him! Then I stood by his side when you betrayed him and wrote those mean and horrible things about him. And then he tells me that he can’t be with me?!” The girl’s chest is

heaving, her breathing ragged. “I just started hitting him and screaming, and I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t even realize that he was backing up towards the edge of the cliff.

213 Then he took a step back, slipped off the edge. He tried to grab onto my hands. I pulled him back, but I couldn’t hold onto him. He was so heavy, and he fell back. I heard his body hit the rocks. My Kainoa. I tried to save him…” Her eyes flick over to the waves below them. Tears roll down her cheeks.

Shane glances at the churning water, where Kainoa’s body was pulled weeks before. “You killed him,” she says slowly.

“It was an accident…I didn’t mean to…”

Shane takes a slight step back. “He tried to warn me about you. He wanted to end it and didn’t know how.”

“Shut up, Shane!” Rianne screams, pointing a finger at Shane’s face. “You cunt, I hate you. I hate that you got to him first. Now I don’t have him and it’s your fault!”

Rianne lunges at Shane, arms aiming for Shane’s neck. Shane takes a side step and dodges her at first, but the lack of traction on the bottom of her slippers causes her to slide. Shane turns as Rianne passes her and grabs the hood of the sweater. Rianne lets out a scream and falls to the ground, but she somehow untangles herself from the sweater. Shane tosses the jacket to the ground and runs towards the higher rocks, but she looses her balance and slips on the wet rock. She lands on her hands and knees, catching her balance, but her legs give out from the impact. She falls onto her stomach, just as

Rianne kicks her side, causing Shane to cry out. Shane tries to stand, but Rianne kicks her in the leg, causing Shane to fall on her back on the wet rocks below. The cold water seeps through her jeans and t-shirt. Pain surges through Shane’s legs and back, but she rolls over slowly and gets on all fours.

214 “He was mine!” Rianne cries, jumping down until she’s next to Shane. “He should’ve loved me! He should’ve been with me!”

“Kainoa only loved himself!” Shane shouts as she tries to stand. “You idiot, he didn’t love anybody but himself.”

Rianne yells something at Shane, but it’s lost in the wind. She lunges at Shane again, this time pushing Shane’s chest. Shane falls back, arms flailing, and feels the cold shock of water surrounding her. The waves crash, cover her head, and slam her against the rocky wall. Her feet hit the rocks and pain shoots from the ball of her right foot and up her leg. Shane reaches out to grab the ledge, but the rocks slip from her hands and graze her fingertips. She gasps for air, but another wave slams into her face. She inhales water and the salt cuts into her throat, burns her nose and her chest. She opens her eyes and sees the swirl of ocean and the foam from the waves. Maybe this is what Kainoa felt when he fell from the cliffs. Maybe this was the last thing he saw before he died.

215 CHAPTER 11

Shane feels light. Weightless. Panic leaves her body. She floats in the water,

bobs in between the waves colliding over her head. The last breaths of air leave her mouth and nose, bubbling in front of her face. Then she remembers that Rianne is out there, getting away with murdering Kainoa. Kainoa drowned in this water. Shane won’t end up like him. The thought of getting out of the water and going after Rianne surges through her body, jolting Shane alert.

A wave pushes Shane’s body up and towards the rock wall. She looks up at the sky and reaches her arms out as the wave lifts her body and pushes her against the rock.

Shane uses her last breath to push up and against the wall until she feels the edge. She grabs onto the edge with her forearms, using all of her strength to hoist her upper body above the water. Her jeans weigh down her lower body, but she somehow has the strength to pull up her legs. “Fuck,” she yells, panting for air, as she swings her left leg over the flat cold rock.

“Hold on!” a male voice yells. Shane tries to push her body onto the rocks and looks up at the face of a young Japanese man wearing a faded tank top and board shorts.

She grabs a hold of his hands and pulls herself onto the rocks. She sits and gurgles up salt water. Her chest is heaving, her foot aches.

Shane looks around with her burning eyes, and she sees several college-age young men and women staring at her. Fishing poles and plastic buckets are tossed on the rocks, resting next to several boxy styrofoam coolers.

216 “Eh, you okay or what?” a young Japanese woman asks. She’s dressed in a sweatshirt and denim shorts, a pink bikini top string tied around her neck.

“Y—yeah,” Shane manages to say around her ragged breathing. Her wet clothes are stuck to her skin, and she shivers in the breeze. She wraps her arms around her shaking body.

The guy who helped her out of the water hands her a ratty beach towel. “We came here to fish and saw your friend pinning down that crazy chick. She was trying to get away, and your friend said that you were in the water. We got there right when you were climbing out of the water. How’d you get out?”

Park has Rianne. Shane wipes her face with the towel, inhales the fruity scent of car air freshener. “Dunno, maybe adrenaline,” she says as she wraps the towel around her shoulders. She accepts his help as she tries to stand on her bare feet. Her foot is on fire, and she grits her teeth in pain. She shifts her weight, hops to the nearest rock and takes a seat. She winces and knows that she’ll probably be aching for a while.

The faint blaring of a police siren grows louder. She hears someone call her name and cranes her head up. Park looks down at her from the top of the cliffs. “Are you okay?” he calls, his voice somewhat lost in the wind.

“Where the hell were you?” Shane shouts at him. “What, I don’t come back for a while and you just stay there?”

“Jesus, I was calling H.P.D.—”

“Asshole,” Shane shouts back. She tries to stand, but the slightest weight on her right foot causes her to wince. She shifts her weight and holds onto the towel with her right hand. The college kids cry out as she tries to climb up to the next rock.

217 “Don’t get up,” Park yells. “We have the EMT coming down to get you.”

“Shut up!” Shane snaps back as she rolls her eyes. She takes a soft step with her

right foot. The pain makes her clench her teeth. Instead, she sits on the ledge and swings her legs onto the rock. She hears Park yell at her again, but she keeps climbing up. She looks up at him and sees him shaking his head. “What?” she shouts at him. “I got this.”

Eventually Shane gets to the top rocks. She sees the dirt-covered rock, where

Park stands, hand outstretched. Shane looks at his hand carefully, and then rolls her eyes again and takes it. Park pulls her up as she climbs the last rock. They walk back to the clearing, where Shane plops on the grass.

“Seriously, you okay?” Park asks.

Shane shrugs and rings out her wet hair. “I’m all right. I’d like something to drink.”

“I’ll ask the EMT for some hot water.”

“I was hoping for some whiskey,” Shane says. She smiles when Park scowls at her.

The ambulance arrives, red and white lights reflecting off the homes in the cul-de- sac. Several residents have walked from their homes to the area, checking out the commotion. A woman, out walking her dog, stops to watch, her Pomeranian yelping at the cops. As the EMTs rush over to Shane, she sees the cops lead Rianne to the squad car. An EMT checks out Shane’s foot as another gives her hot water to drink. Park says something but Shane ignores him. Instead, she watches the sobbing girl step into the backseat of the car. Rianne glances to her side and looks at Shane. Their eyes meet briefly before Rianne snaps her head forward. Shane supposes that she should feel angry

218 that the girl tried to kill her, but instead she feels hollow, slightly vacant, and sad. Maybe

it’s because Shane was in that situation before, where she did what she could to please

the same man. As Shane watches the squad car’s back door slam shut, she feels relief.

The EMT gives Shane some instructions for her possibly fractured foot, which

Shane half-listens to. After some police questioning, she agrees to go down to the station

after she changes her clothes and gets some real shoes. The college kids climb up and

she gets their contact information, promises to take them out for beers later. She hops to

the car and, after Park argues with her about how she can’t drive with a hurt right foot,

climbs into the passenger seat and slams the door. Park starts the engine and they start to

drive away, when one of the college girls waves them down. “Stop the car,” Shane says

to Park. She rolls down the window.

“Eh, Shane, is this yours?”

Kainoa’s jacket is in the girl’s hand. Shane’s old hoodie, which Kainoa kept after

all these years. Shane reaches to grab it, but instead she drops her hand and shakes her

head. “Nah,” she says. “It’s not mine. Just dump ‘em.”

Shane rolls up the window as the girl walks back to her friends. Park drives away. She looks behind her as they head back to Honolulu and leave China Walls

behind. Overhead, the wind pushes the dark clouds over the ocean and leaves traces of blue. Shane leans back in her seat. For now, for the first time, her mind is clear. She doesn’t have a thought at all.

219