all started laughing.
“What?” This was a very strange memorial.
“Hollywood, you couldn’t swing a surfboard without hitting someone who didn’t have a beef with Big Shot Mike. And if your grandmother actually did do the dirty deed, I’m sure she did a favor for a lot of people.”
“Kenny. What did I tell you? You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. Even if they were a jerk,” Zev said.
“You just did.”
“Did not.”
“You said he was a jerk.”
“He forced my Auntie and Uncle out of their home and turned around and resold it for a million dollars. They’re now in some crap condo in Kihei and not very happy about it.” Zev kicked at the sand. “I wasn’t talking bad about him. I was just speaking the truth.”
“Guys. Thanks. I’m just trying to get my bearings and hear what everyone is talking about. This is such a small island, surely everyone is talking about who might have killed him. Someone other than my grandmother. So, maybe you could help listen around and let me know if you hear something?
“Right on!” The three high-fived each other.
I smiled at them, my crack team of surfer dude PIs were on the case with me.
“Shh,” a group of mourners turned around and frowned at us, motioning up toward the minister on the sand. There were about two hundred people gathered, as best I could tell. I noticed what must have been Mike’s family up front, a group of Hawaiians holding onto each other, and crying. An older, handsome man was trying to console a beautiful, weeping woman. I felt sad for them and would go pay my condolences after the service.
Under the hot sun, I drew my sunshmina closer over my shoulders. Though I was cool and comfortably dry inside the sun-shielding fabric, I felt extremely uncomfortable. I peered out the side of my sunglass, and sure enough, a few Hawaiian women were staring me down. Maybe they liked my sunshmina? I turned to face them and they quickly turned away.
Hmm. I peeked over my shoulder. Another couple stared at me and didn’t even turn away as I faced them. Eyes forward, I tried to pay attention to the service, while trying to scope out suspicious characters. Hopefully I would be able to talk to Mike’s family and friends after the service. All of a sudden I felt a nudge at my elbow.
“Jac. Hey. What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d find you here and I wanted to make sure you were holding it together.”
“I’m fine.” I smiled way too inappropriately for a memorial service. “And look,” I spread my arms to show him my sunshmina, draped like protective wings. “My grandmother made it for me. My sunburn doesn’t hurt as bad anymore and I’m feeling a lot better.” Especially seeing Jac.
“Good. How’s Mrs. Park?”
“I called the jail this morning. Even though they said she’s doing fine, she has to be miserable, and scared. I’m going to see her this afternoon.”
He nodded. I sniffed, catching the fresh scent of his shampoo. Like most men there, he wore shorts and flip-flops. Unlike most men, he pulled it off. I tried not to stare.
“And thanks, Jac, for the lawyer recommendation. I talked to him, briefly.” And owe him a $1000 retainer check. I hoped he wouldn’t cash it right away—it would leave me with about $400 left in the bank. I tamped down that worry to focus on my mission at hand.
As soon as the service came to an end, everyone in the crowd reached out to hold hands during the final prayer. “ Ha’ale i ka la kamea mahana,” the priest intoned. “He has left the warmth of the sun.” I was glad Jac was at my side and squeezed his hand in a silent thanks.
“Is that it?” I asked him.
“I think so,” he answered. “Now what?”
“I need to go talk to his parents.”
Jac shook his head. “Jaswinder, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Why not? I’ve got to find out everything I can. Maybe they know something. At least I need to say I’m sorry, and so is my grandmother,
“What?” This was a very strange memorial.
“Hollywood, you couldn’t swing a surfboard without hitting someone who didn’t have a beef with Big Shot Mike. And if your grandmother actually did do the dirty deed, I’m sure she did a favor for a lot of people.”
“Kenny. What did I tell you? You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. Even if they were a jerk,” Zev said.
“You just did.”
“Did not.”
“You said he was a jerk.”
“He forced my Auntie and Uncle out of their home and turned around and resold it for a million dollars. They’re now in some crap condo in Kihei and not very happy about it.” Zev kicked at the sand. “I wasn’t talking bad about him. I was just speaking the truth.”
“Guys. Thanks. I’m just trying to get my bearings and hear what everyone is talking about. This is such a small island, surely everyone is talking about who might have killed him. Someone other than my grandmother. So, maybe you could help listen around and let me know if you hear something?
“Right on!” The three high-fived each other.
I smiled at them, my crack team of surfer dude PIs were on the case with me.
“Shh,” a group of mourners turned around and frowned at us, motioning up toward the minister on the sand. There were about two hundred people gathered, as best I could tell. I noticed what must have been Mike’s family up front, a group of Hawaiians holding onto each other, and crying. An older, handsome man was trying to console a beautiful, weeping woman. I felt sad for them and would go pay my condolences after the service.
Under the hot sun, I drew my sunshmina closer over my shoulders. Though I was cool and comfortably dry inside the sun-shielding fabric, I felt extremely uncomfortable. I peered out the side of my sunglass, and sure enough, a few Hawaiian women were staring me down. Maybe they liked my sunshmina? I turned to face them and they quickly turned away.
Hmm. I peeked over my shoulder. Another couple stared at me and didn’t even turn away as I faced them. Eyes forward, I tried to pay attention to the service, while trying to scope out suspicious characters. Hopefully I would be able to talk to Mike’s family and friends after the service. All of a sudden I felt a nudge at my elbow.
“Jac. Hey. What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d find you here and I wanted to make sure you were holding it together.”
“I’m fine.” I smiled way too inappropriately for a memorial service. “And look,” I spread my arms to show him my sunshmina, draped like protective wings. “My grandmother made it for me. My sunburn doesn’t hurt as bad anymore and I’m feeling a lot better.” Especially seeing Jac.
“Good. How’s Mrs. Park?”
“I called the jail this morning. Even though they said she’s doing fine, she has to be miserable, and scared. I’m going to see her this afternoon.”
He nodded. I sniffed, catching the fresh scent of his shampoo. Like most men there, he wore shorts and flip-flops. Unlike most men, he pulled it off. I tried not to stare.
“And thanks, Jac, for the lawyer recommendation. I talked to him, briefly.” And owe him a $1000 retainer check. I hoped he wouldn’t cash it right away—it would leave me with about $400 left in the bank. I tamped down that worry to focus on my mission at hand.
As soon as the service came to an end, everyone in the crowd reached out to hold hands during the final prayer. “ Ha’ale i ka la kamea mahana,” the priest intoned. “He has left the warmth of the sun.” I was glad Jac was at my side and squeezed his hand in a silent thanks.
“Is that it?” I asked him.
“I think so,” he answered. “Now what?”
“I need to go talk to his parents.”
Jac shook his head. “Jaswinder, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Why not? I’ve got to find out everything I can. Maybe they know something. At least I need to say I’m sorry, and so is my grandmother,
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