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My Kind of Town

by Don Chapman

Friday, July 20, 2001


The final clue

>> Portlock

"Wow," is all Quinn Ah Sun could say with a whisper when Lily opened the front door and led him into the living area. Whispering not because he was worried about the possible intruder arriving ahead of them, but in awe. Chairs, tables, lamps and the couch were made of koa. And a quilt on the wall was framed in koa. "You're really into Hawaiian things, eh?"

"Quinn, we are Hawaiian. And this is Hawaii."

Not many Hawaiians could afford this much koa, Quinn thought, and for sure not one on a cop's budget. But he knew from a recent story by Erika Engle in the Star-Bulletin business section that Lily and her phyto-cosmetic company Ola Essences were doing pretty well. That, apparently, was an understatement.

"Come on, let's get these Popsicles into the freezer." Lily led Quinn across the living area to the kitchen and he held the plastic bag open as Lily put five boxes of Popsicles into the restaurant-sized refrigerator. She kept one box and shut the door.

"Come, I'll introduce you to Rosalita and Elizabeth. They live in the cottage in back."

>> Rosalita Resurreccion shook out the bottom sheet, stretched it around a corner of Miss Lily's bed. That's when she saw the clue that made her gasp. She didn't know who, she didn't know what, but she suddenly knew that she was not alone and that she had been missing clues all along. First the smell of batu in the back yard. Then the missing butcher knife in the kitchen. Then batu smoke again in the hallway. But now, seeing the corkscrew on the nightstand, the one Miss Lily had brought back from Guenoc, the one that Rosalita had washed and dried this morning and placed on the kitchen counter next to the wine rack -- Rosalita suddenly knew that she was not alone in the big house. But by the time she noticed, it was too late.

>> Makiki Heights

Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank you!"

"Not so fast. I didn't say you're getting off," said HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes. "No no no. We're making a deal, senator, you and me."

"Deal?"

"That's right. Not because I particularly care about you or your friggin' career, OK? This is for your father. I would not be who or where I am today without him. I owe him everything. This is my way of paying him back. Senator, you just got yourself a personal parole officer."




Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com



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