My Kind of Town
Making sense
>> Makiki Heights
At first, Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka just pulled the pillow that would normally have been occupied by Serena over his head. But the damn phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing. Hadn't he bought an answering machine for Serena?!
"Good morning, senator!"
The deep voice brought Donovan wide awake. It was one of only two people in the world who would know to call him here, neither of which he really wanted to hear from at the moment. Or ever. Serena being the other.
"Sherlock Gomes calling. Just wanted to let you know I'm on my way to pick up your ticket. Remember to pack a sweater, it can get chilly in Portland this time of year. I'll see you tomorrow morning, 9 a.m. Call me at this number to confirm."
The senator did not bother writing the number down. He wouldn't need it because Sherlock Gomes would not be here at 9 tomorrow. Gomes wouldn't know until it was too late, but Donovan was going to see him before tomorrow morning.
>> Queen's Medical Center
HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes clicked off his cell phone, stepped into an elevator, caught the faint but familiar aroma of eucalyptus, ginger and sea brine. Had Ho'ola been here too? Well, that would make sense, given her skills in healing. Or at least that would make as much sense as a goddess -- who stood about 6-foot-4, walked around in glorious brown nakedness and had appeared when Gomes twisted off the hatch of a WWII-vintage Japanese mini-submarine at Ala Moana Beach park earlier -- could ever make to the ultra-logical Gomes.
Hopefully, Ho'ola was on her way to visit Serena Kawainui, who had crashed Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka's car off the Keeaumoku Overpass and would require extensive plastic surgery to make her beautiful again.
Exiting through the ER lobby, Gomes was tempted to visit Dr. Laurie Tang. Dinner at her condo tonight still seemed so far away. But he didn't want to come on too strong. Not yet.
>> Punchbowl Street
Lily Ah Sun got lucky and found an empty parking space just before King Street and squeezed her teal BMW in. Lily had been prepared to walk blocks if she had to, but time was of the essence and this bit of time-saving was a blessing. Maybe it was an omen. Quinn had asked her to check newspaper archives at the State Library for mentions of their fathers, hoping it would offer clues to what caused their rift 21 years ago. Plugging quarters into the meter, Lily had a good feeling about her research.
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