My Kind of Town
Vol. 1: The Honolulu Soap Co.
>>Wilder at Clement, Metcalf and Farrington Scent of gardenia
Having memorized her address, HPD Officer Quinn Ah Sun handed back his long-lost cousin Lily's license. "I got you doing 70 in a 50. And I could get you for ignoring the blue light for over a mile. Consider yourself warned, Lily. You're lucky it was me. The chief is cracking down on speeding."
That would explain her three previous speeding tickets in the past month. Well, partly explain it. She was speeding.
Lily winced. "Sorry. I lost track. I have way too much on my mind."
"I hear you work for your dad," Quinn said. He too had seen yesterday's Star-Bulletin business feature on Lily and her company, Ola Essences.
"Actually, for a subsidiary, but it's in the same plant. I'm on my way there now. There's a lot happening. He's talking about retiring. And then there's Laird's graduation coming up."
"Where?"
"Stanford Business."
Quinn pursed his lips, whistled softly. "Good for him."
"Mm," Lily murmured noncommittally. Good for Laird, her younger brother. Maybe not so good for Lily.
She changed the subject. "So, you're a cop, just like your dad. Like father, like son."
"Sometimes."
Quinn frowned, put on his mirrored Oakley shades again.
"Thank you. I am glad it was you, Quinn," Lily said warmly. She could hide her emotions for a while when she had to, but away from work it wasn't her nature. "Even if you had tagged me, it's really nice to see you after all these years, cousin."
"Yeah," he said, lifting his square chin in acknowledgment and otherwise keeping his emotions behind wrap-around Oakleys. "Me too."
"Here, take my card. Just in case." Of what Lily wasn't sure, but she slid one of the pastel melon cards from her Chanel bag. As she handed him the card, their fingers brushed lightly, and Lily felt a jolt of electricity.
The feeling was mutual. Quinn drew a sharp breath, glanced at Lily's card. He started to put the card in his shirt pocket, but stopped and held it to his nose. It was lightly scented of gardenia. "Smells like a real flower."
"It is from a real flower."
"Amazing. See ya."
"Sooner than 21 years, I hope."
"Way sooner."
>>Tomorrow: You can go your own way
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com