Page 57 of Talk Story

The front door, which we didn’t bother to close anymore, admitted two more: Lei entered first, off-duty in jeans and a faded surf tee, but with that contained alertness she never fully lost. Malia Peahi followed in uniform, moving with a black boot cinched around her left ankle and a crutch tucked under one arm.

“Eh, the law’s here,” Josie called. “Everybody behave.”

“Too late for most of you,” Lei said, and the room laughed. Aunt Fae was already steering them both toward pūpū plates because no one entered her house and went unfed.

“Hold that for us, Auntie,” Lei said. “Malia and I need a quick word with Kat and Keone.”

My pulse sped up; this had to be about Pali and the archive. “Come up to my bedroom—probably the only private spot in the house right now.”

“Not empty-handed,” Aunt Fae insisted, and foisted umbrella-bedecked drinks and a plate of pūpūs onto each woman. Since Malia was on crutches with her foot in a boot, Keone carried her refreshments, and I provided support with the stairs.

We trooped slowly up, and I tried not to let my mind gallop ahead.

The phone calls we’d had last night with each woman giving them advance notice of Pali’s upcoming information had been brief, mostly me (with input from Keone) explaining and pitching hard that Pali’s actions be judged in light of a bigger picture—and that the archive wasn’t pivotal evidence.

Neither woman had said much; I’d been left feeling like I’d hollered into the darkness of the lava tube and hadn’t got so much of an echo in return. I sure hoped Pali had kept his word and showed up to talk to them this morning, but he hadn’t been answering his phone today.

I opened the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry, there’s limited seating in here,” I said, gesturing to the queen-size bed (fortunately neatly made) and single desk chair.

Lei chewed a mouthful of taro chip laden with poke and swallowed. “No worries, this will only take a minute. We thought you two deserved an update about a part of the case we’re keeping confidential.”

“The archive,” Keone said.

“Yes,” Malia propped her crutch against the wall and picked up her Passion Orange Guava concoction from the desk where Keone had set her refreshments. “Pali Moku came in this morning, as you said he would.”

“And?” I sat abruptly on the edge of the bed; Keone lowered himself to sit beside me, so we faced the two law enforcement officers. “What’s the verdict?” I clapped my hands to my face. “I mean . . . argh!”

Lei smiled, but Malia didn’t; she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Pali Moku came into Hana station.” Malia picked up a slice of peeled papaya from her paper plate and took a bite. “He told me, on the record, that he hid the archive—those important historical land documents—and that he’s chosen not to disclose their location.”

“Did he tell you why?” My gaze was pleading. I tried to rein in the puppy dog eyes; they’d likely annoy Malia—she was not the type to be swayed by such tactics.

“Legally, withholding evidence in an active case is a real issue and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But . . .” she shifted her booted foot and grimaced . . . “Lei and I talked, then we took it to the DA. He examined the situation in depth. We don’t need the archive to get convictions, in his estimation—we’ve got Santos’s statements, the evidence in the warehouse, the recovered petroglyphs, Patel’s assault on an officer, the kidnapping of Dr. Emerson, the money trail with the shell corporations. All of that stands on its own. The archive doesn’t make or break a single charge. What it would do, if it went into the record, is open a hundred and fifty years of land claims that Awawakapu Valley has hanging over it like a storm cloud.” She paused, wet her whistle with POG. “Our team’s determination was that Pali be issued a citation for withholding evidence and given the minimum fine. It’s a formality.” She finished her papaya slice with a satisfying slurp. “He paid the fine this morning and walked out of the station.”

Lei glanced back outside into the hall. “I kind of expected to see him here, to be honest.”

“The party’s still young,” I said on a sigh of relief about Pali. I felt Keone’s shoulders loosen beside me, too.

“He wanted me to tell you both something,” Malia added, her official tone disappearing. “He said: ‘the valley’s safe.’ He said to tell Uncle Kalani especially.”

“I know Uncle will appreciate that,” Mr. K said.

We clumped back downstairs. Uncle Kalani had moved to the center of the room and was preparing to bless the food; we all bowed our heads as he inclined his head.

When he spoke his voice was low and carried to every corner of the suddenly quiet room. He chanted briefly, blessing the meal and the company, then switched to English and mentioned Keone, Lei, Malia and me by name as “helpers of the Valley” in a prayer of gratitude. I had the sense the old man knew all about the archive—maybe Pali had called him. “Awawakapu knows where its history sleeps. Restoration is on its way. That is enough,” he concluded. “Amen.”

After the pule, we formed a laughing, chatting line around the kitchen island, helping ourselves to copious amounts of food.

I took my loaded plate back into the living room—and was about to take the last spot on the crowded couch when Ilima gestured for Malia to join her there. “Sit, sit.” Ilima patted the couch. “Malia, get off that ankle. We heard you went down a hero for the Valley.”

Malia hobbled over. “I went down on a wet rock,” she said dryly, lowering herself with a wince. “Heroism had nothing to do with it—but maybe it did a little with the way Kat ran down our suspect. Chased her up a mountain and took her down like a cheetah leaping on a wildebeest.”

We all laughed; I ducked my head, which hurt my swollen face. “I don’t mind being called a ‘cheetah’ but it’s hardly accurate—and she got some licks in on me, too.”

“I have a feeling this is one of the stories that’s going to get more exciting with each retelling,” Keone said. Malia let him prop a cushion under her braced ankle, and then accepted a loaded plate from Aunt Fae.

Lei grabbed one of the folding chairs we’d borrowed from the community center, and I took the one beside her. As we tucked into our dinner I gazed around at our community—the Red Hats, the Pahinuis, the mayor, the kahu, the rescued archaeologist, the postmaster and her pilot—and realized who I was missing.

“Anyone seen Elle? She was helping out with the organizing, wasn’t she, Aunt Fae?”