Page 25 of Talk Story

“I don’t know much. He’s a local, I believe, because Pali said he grew up on the east side and is his mentor in Hawaiian cultural archaeology. Pali told us he’s the person who can translate the petroglyphs and give them an official reading that will hold up legally for NAGPRA if they try to use that to get a court order to stop the development. Dr. Emerson had been helping Pali document the petroglyph site informally.”

“Had been,” Lei caught the tense.

“Yeah. Like I said, Pali tried to reach him yesterday evening to go out and seek the archive hidden in the caves. His phone goes straight to voicemail, which Pali said was strange.” I paused, frowning. “Pali texted me that he was seen at the Hana Historical Museum on Tuesday, using their research archive. The staff told him they remember Dr. Emerson was checking out the 1940s survey maps—the same series Keone pulled to track how the developers were moving the petroglyphs through the cave system.”

Lei wrote something, underlined it. “Have you contacted Hana PD about Emerson as a possible missing person?”

“It didn’t seem like it had been long enough—and I get the feeling Pali’s not used to working closely with law enforcement,” I said, biting my lip. “He’s a bit—anti-establishment.”

“I get that. I know the type.” Lei’s mouth thinned. “I’ll make a direct call to Malia Peahi and report this. Officially.” She closed her notebook. “And I hope you’re feeling energetic enough for a hike; I’d like to see the Sacred Valley for myself. We can take my truck.”

My heart rate speeded up. “Let me reach out to Pali and see if he’s free. I want you to meet him, and I’ll bet my next book of commemorative stamps that he wants to go hunt for that archive today.”

Lei cocked her head. “You collect stamps now?”

“When in Rome . . . or Ohia, as the case may be. I’m waiting on the new Grogu ones with bated breath.”

Lei shook her head and got out her phone to make the call to Officer Peahi.

Meanwhile, I stepped out onto the porch of the shack to reach out to Keone. It was time to get past our snit; he’d definitely want a chance to go back out to Awawakapu with us. I took a seat in one of the plastic Adirondack chairs he’d put out on the porch for us. Even in little moments like this, it was worth it to pause: take in the curve of the beach across the street, the sway of the palms, the sight of some kids jumping off the short pier into the sea. Man, I loved living on Maui. I hoped I never took it for granted.

As I was scrolling to Keone’s number, a big yellow UPS truck pulled up next to the post office building. Chad, who also drove our delivery truck, was at the wheel. “I’ve got a package for you, but I thought you might be gone already,” he said, his pale, acne-riddled cheeks creasing in a smile. “Glad I caught you.”

“Me too.” I received the heavy box he handed me; it had to be the surveillance equipment I’d ordered from Sophie. “Perfect timing, actually.”

I didn’t remember I’d been about to call Keone until Lei and I were bouncing along in her truck, headed for Sacred Valley, the box of surveillance equipment in the back—and by then, we were out of cell phone range.

“Dang it,” I muttered. I composed a text to him and sent it, hoping there was enough signal that he’d receive it—or our little relationship problem was sure to get bigger. I added a bunch of heart emojis at the end of the message and crossed my fingers. “That’ll have to be enough.” We were on our way to Awawakapu without him.

We arrived at the dirt lot at the trailhead to Awawakapu Valley at the same time as Pali Moku. Once we were out of Lei’s truck, I introduced Pali to her.

The young archeologist wasted no time sharing a concern. “Dr. Nainoa Emerson’s truck was in the Hana Historical Museum parking lot, but no one knows where he is, including his wife,” Pali told us, a frown creasing his brow. “There’s definitely something off about all this.”

“When did you last see the vehicle?” Lei asked. Bits of curly brown hair had escaped her ponytail and whipped around her tanned, freckled cheeks as she beeped her truck locked. “I phoned and let Malia Peahi know your concerns about him being missing. The location of his car is important.”

“I spotted it as I drove past on my way to meet you here. It’s a gray Tacoma with a University of Hawaii parking sticker and a Protect Kahoʻolawe bumper sticker. It’s parked in the far corner of the lot.”

“We’re out of cell service range, but I’ll text Malia to check it out,” Lei said, working her phone with her thumbs. “Hopefully this gets through ASAP.”

“When did you last talk to Dr. Emerson?” I asked Pali.

“As I told you . . .” he glanced at me . . . “Tuesday evening.” He frowned, a muscle standing out in his jaw. “Nainoa called me to tell me he’d found something in the archives. Survey records from the 1890s that might corroborate some of the translations he was making of the cave art. He sounded . . . like he was choosing his words carefully.” Pali paused. “Maybe someone was listening, or he was afraid of his phone being tapped.”

Tiki was sitting bolt upright in her carrier, and she yowled for us to get going. I’d tried to leave her behind this time, but she was having nothing to do with that; she’d parked in front of the carrier, meowing aggressively, until Lei was the one to give in and told me to bring her.

Dr. Emerson’s disappearance weighed heavy as Lei picked up Tiki in her backpack and I donned the heavy duffel full of surveillance equipment. I was pretty handy with tools as I’d had to be growing up in backcountry Maine with Aunt Fae, and then using a lot of arms and equipment as a Secret Service agent; even so, I was a little worried about being able to get the tech hooked up and installed. This wasn’t the kind of work I’d done with the Secret Service—or the Postal Service, for that matter. I was glad I’d taken time on the bumpy drive to open the box and skim the instructional pamphlet as best I could, but chances were good I’d run into some snags getting the cameras set up. The thought gave me nervous energy, and I strode out and took the lead on the now familiar, rough but beautiful path into Awawakapu Valley.

The stillness inside the lava tube cave today had a different feel than when we’d been here before; the cool mineral air felt preserved. No sound of dripping water interrupted the quiet hush this time; sound seemed muffled in the space.

My headlamp caught the inscription wall as we approached and relief loosened my chest; the carved figures were exactly as we’d left them: spear-carriers, ‘Iwa wings, family groupings—all intact.

“This is amazing,” Lei breathed—and then her light caught the gouged-out areas where the petroglyphs had been stolen. “Son of a . . .”

“I know. It’s so much worse to see the destruction in person than hear about it,” I said.

Pali passed us and moved to stand in front of the wall for a long time without speaking. We gave him space and silence for his contemplation.

Meanwhile, Tiki’s chin rested on the mesh opening of her carrier, her eyes moving along the wall of carvings in a purposeful way. Could she understand what she was observing? Then, up near the ceiling, I spotted a white gecko—yep, she was tracking something, but it wasn’t mysterious. That critter that had been trapped down here and over time had adapted to the dark. Of course Tiki couldn’t read petroglyphs.