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We reached the main road, and he handed me his phone with a map on the screen while I muttered, “I’m an accessory to a half-baked chicken-smuggling operation. Is that a felony? Will I do time if we get caught?”
“No, because we got away with it. Now if we get pulled over, I’ll tell them I bought her at a local farm. But, you know, try not to get pulled over.”
According to the GPS, our destination was only about twenty minutes away, and I got my bearings and pulled onto a narrow highway. The landscape was green and lush, and the overcast sky soon gave way to a steady rain shower. The map showed the edge of Kauai, and I saw we were headed toward a large bay on the island’s north shore. We turned off before we reached Hanalei, so I never saw if there was much of a town there. Then we wove along a country road for a while, slowly descending to sea level from the surrounding hillside.
When the road turned to gravel, I asked, “Are we really going the right way? There doesn’t seem to be anything out here.”
Harper shrugged. “I have no idea. What does the phone say?”
“These things aren’t always right, and it looks like it’s sending us to the middle of nowhere. Oh great, and now it lost the signal.”
“Just keep going,” he said. “We’ll find it.”
I didn’t share his optimism, and we ended up driving past the narrow dirt road, doubling back, and driving past it again before finally finding it on the third pass. It proved to be muddy and deeply pitted, and as we bounced along, Loco registered her complaint with a loud squawk.
After a few minutes, the overgrown vegetation opened up ahead of us. A one-story bungalow sat at the end of the road, surrounded by perfectly manicured tropical landscaping. The house was pale sage green with darker green trim, so it blended into its surroundings. Beyond it, the land dipped down in a gentle slope, and the lawn gave way to a sandy beach and a gorgeous view of the bay.
I pulled up and said, “So, here’s the guest cottage, but where’s the main house?”
“You’re looking at it.”
“Not possible. There’s no way you spent fourteen million dollars on a house that small.”
As he unzipped his jacket and tucked the chicken inside it, he said, “I paid fourteen million for eight oceanfront acres of land. I didn’t really care how big the house was.”
When I cut the engine, he climbed out of the SUV and hurried up the stairs leading to a wide, wrap-around porch, while trying to keep the chicken shielded from the rain. I stared after him and recalled a conversation where he mentioned we’d each have our own wing and plenty of privacy. Had he been lying about that, or was he just clueless about what exactly he’d bought?
After a minute, I exhaled slowly and followed him into the house. At least it was pretty, even if there wasn’t very much of it. The interior continued the same sage green color scheme, and there were vaulted ceilings and lots of comfortable-looking furniture. Most of the house consisted of a main living area, which connected to an open kitchen. To the left, a pair of teak double doors led to a master suite, and to the right beside the kitchen was a bathroom and a closed door. I assumed that door led to a second bedroom, but when I opened it, I found a home gym. Great, so where was I supposed to sleep?
I went out the back door to see if maybe there was an outbuilding or something that I could use. There wasn’t, but over to the right on the wide, covered porch was a comfortable-looking seating area with a hammock, couch, and a rattan coffee table. I muttered, “That’ll work,” and dropped my luggage onto the couch, then pulled a jacket from my suitcase and put it on before climbing into the hammock.
A minute later, the chicken darted out the open door. She stopped when she reached the back stairs and tilted her head to look at the rain. Then she bustled over to a floral area rug and began tugging at the fringe border, to see if it happened to be food.
Harper dashed outside after her and said, “You need to stay close, Lo-Lo.” The chicken ignored him, obviously. Then he turned to me and asked, “Why’s all your stuff out here?”
“Because this is where I’m planning to live for the next week.”
“You can’t do that. It’s freezing cold out here.”
“Come on. It’s probably sixty degrees.”
He threw his hands up and exclaimed, “Exactly!”
“So, it’s not freezing.”
“It might as well be.”
I shrugged and said, “I’ll find a blanket.”
“Why aren’t you staying inside?”
I shot him a look and said, “There’s only one bed.”
