The Bone Field by Debra Bokur (top e book reader txt) 📕

at hand, she thought. That scenario suggested a premeditation that might somehow tie to the image of this particular fruit. “I don’t love these cold cases,” she said instead. “It’s bad enough when we know who the victim is to begin with, but when we have to figure out who it is before we can hunt for a reason, I start losing sleep.”

“Maybe,” Tomas responded, his voice thoughtful, “it was a natural death, or an accidental one, and the pineapple was an afterthought.”

She looked at him sideways. “Natural death by decapitation?”

Tomas shrugged. “Yeah, it does sound a little crazy, doesn’t it? What about an accident, maybe with some of the equipment, and someone wanted to hide it?”

It was Kali’s turn to shrug. “I’m sure stranger things have happened. But in all likelihood this wasn’t just an accident.”

They drove the rest of the short distance in silence. Darkness had almost completely fallen as Tomas pulled the car up in front of the entrance of the Hotel Lna‘i in Lna‘i City.

She unclipped her seat belt and opened the car door, already anticipating the magic of a long shower and late dinner.

“Mahalo for the ride,” she said, climbing out. “I’m heading back to Maui early, but I’ll be in touch before I leave.”

“Pomaika’i,” called Tomas, using the Hawaiian word for “good luck.” He gave a wave as he pulled back out into the street, taillights fading as the road curved away into the night.

Kali turned, gazing at the small plantation-style building that housed the hotel. It was painted a soft yellow and surrounded by blooming foliage. She climbed the front steps, stopping halfway with her hand on the rail, scanning the tranquil setting in appreciation. The designation of “city” was stretching things more than a little bit, she thought. The tiny town was hardly more than a pretty square bordered by a few shops and restaurants, with beautiful residential neighborhoods spreading out beyond.

Never the tourist magnet that continuously drew hordes of visitors to Maui and O‘ahu, the island of Lna‘i had become identified with the sweet, prickly crops of fruit growing in orderly rows across its face. The small hotel had once served as private lodging, and was modest in comparison to the two enormous resorts located in other parts of the island.

While the nickname Pineapple Island had eventually become popular, promoted in newspapers, magazines, movies, and television, Kali knew that the island’s dark history had little to offer in the way of sweetness. Lna‘i, so green and peaceful, was steeped in dark myth and violent legends that whispered of man-eating spirits that stalked the living.

“I wonder how many of the tourists who make their way across the channel know about the Lna‘i monsters?” murmured Kali, half to herself.

“Probably none of them,” answered a male voice.

Kali started, surprised that anyone had heard her. A very old man was standing on the porch above her, partly in the shadows near the rail, looking out toward the dangling moon, which was surrounded by faint, glittering stars. She halted her ascent up the stairs just before the stranger.

“Do you think it would make a difference to them if they did know?” she asked.

The old man shrugged. “I doubt it,” he said. “Just fodder for T-shirt slogans, I would think. No one believes in anything anymore unless they can see or taste it.”

She mused over his words, and the abundant truth in them. “Or unless it touches their own life directly,” she added.

“Exactly so,” he said. He bowed slightly in her direction, then turned back to the rail, resuming his observance of the moon’s widening glow. “You must excuse me. I have an agreement with Hina, you see, that I will, whenever possible, greet her as she arrives to light the night.”

Kali was surprised to hear him speak the name of Hina. The Hawaiian goddess of the moon.

“That’s quite an honorable agreement,” she said, her voice carrying a genuine respect. “I’m sure, Grandfather, that she looks forward to seeing you each evening.”

The man smiled broadly, evidently finding her use of the title grandfather friendly. They stood together in companionable silence for several minutes, looking at the sky as the cool night breeze whispered across their faces. As she turned toward the door, she noticed the deep lines around his eyes; there was old grief written there, but laugh lines as well, deep crevices that came from a lifetime of many smiles. For a fleeting moment she wondered what her own face revealed, and if others might someday look at her and see nothing but regret or the disillusionment that regularly arose from constantly dealing with the results of the cruelty and selfishness of her fellow humans.

“Aloha ahiahi,” she said softly to the man, nodding her head. As he returned the gesture, she opened the door quietly and passed into the hotel foyer, imagining the imminent comfort of climbing beneath the fresh, cool sheets of her temporary bed, where she might dream, all the while bathed in Hina’s silvery light.

CHAPTER 3

In the morning after coffee, Kali checked with Tomas by phone to see if anything useful had been uncovered at the pineapple field. Nothing had, so she climbed into a golf cart taxi waiting by the hotel’s front steps, ready to transport her to the dock at Manele Harbor. The police launch was already there, waiting in a slip, and the trip across the channel—a short, pleasant journey—delivered her to the parking lot at the port in Lahaina on Maui, where she’d left her ragged, army-issue Jeep in the parking lot.

The Jeep was a relic from the years following the attack on Pearl Harbor, when squadrons of US military had been stationed throughout the islands, and the sturdy workhorse vehicle became ubiquitous on the tropical landscape. While the deteriorating condition of Kali’s Jeep had become an increasing concern, she wasn’t yet ready to part with it. A newer model would serve the same purpose of negotiating the