Page 9 of Talk Story

Everyone focused on him.

“What midnight trucks, Uncle Artie?” I asked.

“Couple of my regular customers mentioned heavy vehicles after dark, on the old cane road that runs toward Sacred Valley. Nobody drives that road anymore—it’s barely passable. But they heard engines, big ones, between midnight and three a.m.”

“Heavy enough to haul cut stone?” Keone asked.

“That would be my guess,” Artie said, his sightless eyes aimed at Keone. “Stone’s heavy. You’d need a flatbed with decent clearance. At least an off-road vehicle to carry the pieces from the site to the truck.”

Edith made a rude noise. “So they’ve been running the pieces out at night. While we were all sleeping.”

“While most of us were sleeping,” Uncle Kalani said. He said it without suggesting that he specifically had not been sleeping, but the implication was present.

“I’ll check road access points and search for tire tracks,” Officer Peahi said, adding to her notes. “Though with this rain . . .”

“The rain’s been wiping away evidence all day,” I said. “In the garden, my cat found something buried near the plumeria tree.”

“I flagged the spot with my partner before I left,” Peahi said. “But documenting the full scene is going to take another day, at least.”

“We should go back and get whatever Tiki found before it disappears,” I said. The words were out before I’d fully thought them through, but the urgency felt right. “If someone took the petroglyphs and vandalized this garden in the same twenty-four hours, they’re moving fast.”

Peahi glanced at Lei, who gave a slight nod. “Take Kat with you,” Lei said. “She’s got a good eye, and her cat’s got a better nose. I’ll stay here and start coordinating with my contacts about the federal angle—theft of Native Hawaiian cultural artifacts is NAGPRA territory, and if someone’s trafficking stolen petroglyphs, federal jurisdiction kicks in.”

“NAGPRA?” I asked.

“The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act,” Lei supplied. “Covers Hawaiian cultural items. The more agencies involved⁠—”

“The harder it is for anyone to make this disappear,” Edith finished, sitting back in satisfaction.

Officer Peahi carefully accepted the archival sleeve and tucked it into a large evidence bag, labeling it with the date, time, and a description. Her earlier brashness had settled into something steadier; the young officer had realized the case she’d caught wasn’t a routine vandalism call. “I’ll take every precaution with these documents,” she said.

“I’ll drive us back to the Garden,” I volunteered. Tiki, who had been sleeping with elaborate disinterest through the entire discussion, lifted her head, her ear rotating toward me like a satellite dish.

“I swear that cat understands English,” Opal said as Tiki got up and stretched, clearly planning to accompany me. “Glad the boys—her kittens, though they’re grown now—are in our part of the building; she terrorizes them when she comes over.”

“Tiki knows she’s important,” Aunt Fae said. “And she’s the boss of her sons, like any good parent. Not the same as terrorizing them.”

I appreciated Auntie sticking up for my cat, though Tiki really didn’t need anyone to do that. Keone touched my arm as I moved toward the door. “Want me to come?”

“Stay with your mom. She’s going to need backup and a strategy when Chang comes calling.” I kissed him quickly, felt the warmth of his lips and wanted more. “Besides, I’ve got Tiki and an armed officer. What could go wrong?”

“Famous last words, Trouble,” he said—but let me go, back out into the rain.

The rain had eased to a misty drizzle by the time Officer Peahi, Tiki, and I pulled back into the Heritage Garden parking lot. The late afternoon light had gone flat and gray, leeching the color from the battered garden landscape.

The formerly lovely area appeared even worse in this light—sadder somehow, without golden sunshine to soften the damage. In full sun the destruction had the quality of an outrage; in this gray drizzle it held a mood of grief.

Officer Peahi’s partner had left, and the cruiser was gone. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered soddenly at the broken gate, clinging to the bent metal like a streamer after a party that went bad.

Tiki dropped out of the front seat when I opened her carrier and hit the ground running, headed straight for the plumeria tree like a furry guided missile. No investigation of the ruined flower beds, no lingering at the fallen stone lanterns. Straight to what she wanted was always Tiki’s approach to things.

“How do you like working out here so far, Officer Peahi?” I asked, to make conversation. So far, she hadn’t warmed to me much. “I found it a big change from the Secret Service, that’s for sure.”

She just grunted. Apparently the ‘fellow women in law enforcement’ gambit was a bust.

We followed Tiki, our shoes squelching on the muddy path. We rounded the damaged stone wall into the courtyard where the ancient plumeria stood, indifferent to human drama. Rain had pooled in the hollows of its exposed roots, and the last few blossoms clung to the tips of bare branches, stubborn in the way of things that had been there longer than whatever was currently upsetting them.

Tiki was at the base of the tree, exactly where she’d been pawing earlier. She turned to me and let out a sharp, unhappy mew—the one she reserved for empty food bowls and closed doors and situations where the humans in her care had been insufficiently attentive.