My Kind of Town
>>Manoa Perfect timing
After two years of premature widowhood when her oncologist husband died at age 54 of brain cancer, Rayna Chang's friends at Waialae Country Club were bugging her about putting herself back in circulation.
She was still young, only 47, and there ought to be more to life than tennis and mah-jong three times a week and volunteering with the Outdoor Circle.
"But what would Henry say?" she replied one day.
"Henry loved you and he wouldn't want you to be lonely," her favorite doubles partner Babs Johnston said.
"Honey," added the salty-tongued Jackie Mitsui, "two years of grieving is enough. Use it or lose it, know what I mean?"
When her Filipino yardman Paul started to look good as he sweated in the sun, Rayna knew her friends were right. And so, with great trepidation, she allowed them to arrange a dinner date with a partner of Babs' husband in a Bishop Street law firm who'd lost his wife to breast cancer.
"Do not wear black," Jackie scolded. "And show some skin."
His name was David Fulton and he was due any moment. Rayna was so nervous -- and not just because she'd never dated a haole -- she'd changed dresses and accessories five times in the past hour.
She was about to go back to outfit No. 3 when the doorbell chimed. This swoop-neck Mai Scherelle would have to do. Glancing in the mirror by the door, she saw her heart beating through the fabric. Rayna opened the door and saw a man who might have been David, except that his gray suit was off the rack from Penney's and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and his Scooby Doo necktie loosened.
"D...David?"
He already had his wallet out and flashed a badge. "Mrs. Chang, I'm Steve Metz, FBI. I'd like to speak with you about your yardman."
"Paul?"
"We believe that Paul Omandam is an alias."
"Oh dear. What's the problem?"
A set of headlights pulled into the driveway. A tall man, graying at the temples, exited a Lexus wearing navy slacks, a white shirt and camel jacket. "Does it have to be right now?" Rayna said.
"Yes. You heard about the bomb at Pearl Harbor today?"
David Fulton walked up the steps, trying not to show his confusion. He was new to the dating game too. "Maybe this isn't a good time," he said. "Actually," Rayna said, extending her hand, "your timing is perfect."
Turning to Agent Metz, she said, "I'd like to have my attorney join us."
The G-man grunted his assent.
Leading them inside, Rayna whispered, "Nice to meet you, David. By the way, what's your area of expertise?"
"Tax law."
"Close enough."
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