Page 14 of Talk Story

“What was the disagreement about?” I cocked my head and stifled a yawn. “Sorry. Big day yesterday—it kind of caught up with me.”

“I’ll bet.” She was quiet for a moment, seemingly considering how much to tell me. Out front, the first of the morning customers was peering through the glass doors—Mrs. Rodrigues, who arrived twelve minutes early every single day and refused to understand why her mail was not yet sorted.

“I don’t know what the main problem was, but what I remember that’s pertinent is that Victor believed there was something valuable in East Maui land holdings,” Pua said. “He wanted us to return to our roots here in Ohia, and not for the development potential. Something specific. He thought if he found what it was, it could be worth . . .” she paused . . . “a great deal. Next thing I heard, he’s the one behind building in Sacred Valley—but it was total news to me. We hadn’t spoken in many years.” Her voice rang with conviction. “I was shocked when I heard it was him at the council meeting.”

I turned on the fan and it swept past us with its slow oscillation, ruffling the papers on the bulletin board where the community notices lived: the latest from the Hana Canoe Club, a flyer for Uncle Kalani’s Sacred Valley prayer services, a water district notice about the pipe repair on the Hana Highway.

“Did you know he was in Ohia? Before the council meeting?”

She shook her head. “I knew he had a development project on Maui. I didn’t know where.” A pause. “Or I told myself I didn’t know where. Which is not quite the same thing.”

I let that sit for a moment. It was an honest thing to say, and Pua didn’t always say honest things. She said precise things, carefully framed, technically accurate.

But this had the texture of something she’d been carrying and had decided to put down.

“Okay,” I said.

“I’m not protecting him.” Firmness in her voice. “Whatever he’s done, whether it’s being involved with stealing the petroglyphs, destroying the garden—if he’s responsible, he needs to face that. I just . . .” She stopped. Started again. “The family is complicated. I spent a long time putting distance between myself and certain parts of it.”

“I know,” I said. And I did know. Pua’s navigation of her family’s history was something she’d spent years managing. “Is there anything you can tell me about what Victor might be searching for? Specifically?”

She considered this longer than expected.

“There’s an old story in the family,” she said at last. “About land grants—royal era documents that were never properly recorded. Victor was obsessed with them as a young man. He believed they would prove that certain parcels on the east side of Maui were originally—“ she chose her word carefully, “—improperly transferred. Away from Hawaiian families. And that whoever held the original documents could potentially make a claim on what had been taken.”

The hair on my arms prickled. Pearl’s Kalākaua decree sat in an evidence bag at Hana PD. A royal land grant from 1887, designating Sacred Valley as a perpetual trust. A decree that, if authenticated, could stop Chang’s development cold—and potentially implicate the land transfers that had benefited families like the Santoses and, it was now beginning to seem, perhaps the Changs themselves.

“He’s not just trying to develop the land,” I said. “He’s trying to find something.”

Pua gazed at me steadily. “I think so. Yes.”

Mrs. Rodrigues knocked on the glass doors with a small, pointed knuckle.

“I have to let her in,” Pua said. “Catch up later.” She flipped up the counter, smoothed her blouse, and clicked in her heels toward the front of the post office to unlock the doors, composed smile in place with the ease of long practice.

I watched her go, then I picked up my phone and texted Keone: Hey there Mr. K. Got a morning flight?

Hey, Trouble. You know I do. What’s up? Miss me already?

Of course. Meanwhile we need to talk to Lei today.

His reply came while I was sorting last night’s considerable bag of mail: Ahead of you. Meet at the K & K shack at noon for details . . . I found something last night in the Hana Museum archives.

Couldn’t sleep?

Hard when I’m missing you. Pun intended.

I snorted even as my cheeks got a little warm. Naughty Mr. K. Behave.

He sent back a peach, and then an eggplant emoji.

I snorted again.

While Aunt Fae and I were sipping tea and processing the day, he’d been in the archives at midnight, pulling maps. We didn’t have to break in anymore; the curator had given us a key after what we’d discovered helped the Heritage Garden move forward.

Yep, this was the man whose ring was currently on my right hand.

I put the phone down and sorted the mail with what I hoped was my normal level of concentration and energy. Pua deserved my best after abandoning her yesterday—and, truth be told, I might do it again today.