The Bone Field Debra Bokur (novels for beginners .txt) 📖

loose for years—perhaps even decades—taints the illusion of tranquility we all strive so hard to maintain. Sunsets and whales leaping through the blue waves into the blue sky. Music and aloha—that’s what we want the tourists to be focused on. All of that.”

Walter shook his head as if to clear it. “How about boiling lava spewing from the core of it all? Drugs and alcohol abuse? Domestic violence?”

“Exactly,” said Pait, looking fondly at Walter. “That’s it exactly. It’s opposite the image the tourism board wants to promote. So let’s give our visitors a little extra aloha, shall we?”

Kali’s eyebrows rose. Hara looked down at the floor.

“The tourists?” repeated Walter, his voice rising. “What about the hardworking, tax-paying families that actually live here?”

“Yes, yes, them too, of course,” said Pait. “In fact, what I have in mind will make them happy as well. Make them see us as one of them.” He fumbled over the awkward sentence. “Or them as us, and vice versa.” He threw up his hands. “You know what I’m trying to say. It’s all about connection. And we have you, Walter, to thank for part of my brilliant plan.”

Everyone in the room except Pait held their breath. The chief turned to Walter, his leg banging against the front of Hara’s desk. Pait didn’t seem to notice.

“I heard through the department grapevine that you’ll be taking part in that ukulele competition at the Fire Garden Cultural Festival that’s coming up. Got me to thinking about making it a department-wide activity. There’s a wonderful opportunity here for community outreach. Connection. There’s great talent in our ranks: Joe Keahi over in Evidence, Joyce Hale and Tutu Kalani in Patrol, Walter on his little guitar. We’ll play up the public relations angle of officers as bona fide locals.”

Walter made a small, unhappy sound. Kali turned toward the window, hiding a smile.

“Now, just a minute, Chief—” Walter began, but Pait cut him off.

“And Detective Mhoe! Not only an extraordinary sleuth, but a genuine Hawaiian priest to boot!”

Kali’s smile vanished. She swung around to face Pait, her face reflecting her dismay.

“I’m not a priest,” she began, but the chief wasn’t through.

“I’ve been told that hula dancing is part of your ceremonial procedures, and that you happen to be quite adept at the art. Happily, there’s a hula demonstration component to the festival.”

Kali’s expression darkened. “Who, may I ask, told you that?”

Pait waved one long, pale hand in the air. “Oh, one of the officers I expect. Can’t recall exactly who at the moment. But that’s not important. What is important is that we band together for the people, yes?”

Kali took a deep breath, then spoke. “Actually, Chief, it might be more effective—”

“Good, that’s settled, then,” said Pait as though she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve already signed you up for a hula demonstration.” He turned to Hara. “Officer . . . ?”

“Hara, sir,” said Hara, his voice filled with trepidation.

“What’s your gift, son—singing? A musical instrument, perhaps? I’m sure you have some talent to share from your . . . what is it? Japanese-Hawaiian heritage?”

Kali shook her head in despair at Pait’s questions and comments. “You can’t say that, Chief,” she said, but he was oblivious.

There was a pained expression on Hara’s face. “Yes, Japanese-Hawaiian. I practice traditional Japanese drumming, sir.”

Kali and Walter turned to Hara in surprise.

“Well, then. There you have it.” Pait rose from the corner of the desk. “I’ll leave you to decide if Japanese drumming is Hawaiian enough, then. Someone from my office will be in touch to coordinate. Meanwhile, carry on. We have unsolved crimes to deal with, don’t we?” Pait gave a thumbs-up to the others, then turned toward the door, making his way out of the building. They heard him say goodbye to the duty officer seated behind a counter near the entrance.

Lost for words, Kali, Walter, and Hara slowly drew apart. Hara walked back to his own desk and rearranged the papers Pait had moved, then sat down in his chair. Walter began rummaging around in the top drawer of his desk, swearing softly under his breath. Kali walked over to the coffeemaker.

“Just double-checking,” she said. “There’s nothing stronger than coffee in this building, is there?” No one answered. At his desk, Walter swore again, still searching through the detritus that had accumulated in the drawer.

“Anyone seen my bottle of aspirin?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said Hara, his voice subdued.

“Small drawer, bottom right side,” said Kali.

Walter abandoned his search of the top drawer and turned his attention to the smaller one Kali had indicated. The aspirin bottle was there. He took it out, opened it, and shook four tablets into his palm. He stared at them for a moment, then slammed them in his mouth and tossed back his head to swallow. Kali watched him from her vantage point of the counter, then chose a small glass and poured it half full from a large plastic bottle of water resting next to the microwave. She brought the glass to Walter, placing it next to his keyboard.

“Drink this,” she directed. “Those pills are going to dissolve in the back of your throat and the taste will be awful. I think the day is already bad enough.”

Walter picked up the glass and drank from it.

“Bet it was Roger Sanoe in accounting,” he said, scowling. “He saw me buying new strings for my ukulele last weekend and I mentioned the festival. Filthy bastard. Think I might shoot him in the foot.”

Hara looked up, alarmed.

Kali smiled at Hara reassuringly. “He doesn’t mean it.” She turned to Walter, her look conveying that she wasn’t absolutely sure. “Your problem-solving skills could use some tweaking,” she said, moving closer to the window. Outside, the edge of the parking area was visible. Pait’s car was just easing out of its spot when the brake lights flashed and he pulled back in. Kali watched as he climbed out of the front seat, slammed the car door and sprinted back to the office. The sound of