1 Murder on Moloka'i by Chip Hughes Read Free Book Online

had she given him a mere rubdown? Or something more personal? That she knew him at all seemed ominous.
    Soon the Big Island came into view. As the jet descended down the Hāmākua Coast, I saw lime green kukui and the fire orange flowers of African tulip dotting the landscape in brilliant contrast. Above these flamboyant trees rose Mauna Kea, Hawai‘i’s tallest mountain, cloud shrouded and dominating.
    By one o’clock I had picked up my second rental car of the day and was driving north on Bayfront Highway. Milton Yu, the orchid grower, lived thirty miles north of Hilo, mauka of the old plantation town of Pa‘auilo. I would make our two o’clock appointment in good time.
    My hasty background check on Yu had turned up his former occupation as a computer consultant, and his arrest for possession of marijuana. Apparently, the quantity of pakalōlō had been small or the evidence circumstantial, because the case was promptly dropped and just as promptly Yu left O‘ahu for the Big Island. He was either very lucky or very well connected.
    Pa‘auilo turned out to be a sleepy village whose decaying sugar mill, like others on this depressed coast, stood abandoned. Following Yu’s directions, I turned onto a narrow paved road, climbing past rotting plantation houses and a small farm or two. As the road rose higher through fallow cane fields, the air cooled and brought fog. In a few miles, the pavement ended and the path turned red. My car kept climbing.
    Beneath mist-shrouded Mauna Kea, on a plateau surrounded by jungle, sat Yu’s redwood cottage. The soaring A-frame and encircling lānai suggested money–on a clear day, it would command an incredible view of the Hāmākua Coast. Behind the cottage stood a huge greenhouse. And beyond that, acres of jungle and rain forest.
    As I pulled into the gravel drive, a local Chinese man in faded jeans, a Grateful Dead sweatshirt, and rubber slippers emerged from the cottage. He was slim and looked to be in his early forties. His raven hair, prematurely grey, hung in a ponytail.
    “Milton?” I stepped from my car into the cool mountain air and shook his hand.
    Up close, Yu’s shy, dark eyes had a deer-in-the-headlights look and were riddled with tiny red veins. I noticed his sweatshirt smelled faintly of smoke–though not tobacco and not wood.
    Yu motioned me to follow him to his lānai , which was lined with a variety of colorful orchids–lavender, cream, yellow, deep purple. We sat in his two rattan chairs. The vista took in miles of sloping fields blanketed by fog. After some preliminaries in pidgin about his retirement from the computer business, I turned our discussion to the case.
    “Milton, why you like go to Kalaupapa?”
    “Da rare plants,” Yu replied in a voice as shy as his eyes. “Kalaupapa get some you nevah see on da Big Island.”
    “Fo’ real? You wen’ find rare kine dere?”
    “Some.” Yu averted his eyes. “But on da tour dere’s nevah time fo’ collecting, yeah?” He glanced at his watch.
    “On da ride up da pali , you wen’ see Sara fall?”
    “No, was behind me. Heard one loud scream, brah– really loud–den rustle in da bushes down below …” He paused. “Den nut’ing. The haole guy wen’ ride behind her saw da whole t’ing.”
    “Archibald, da travel agent?”
    “From da mainland, I t’ink.”
    “What Archibald do aftah da accident?”
    “He stare ovah da cliff. He nevah do nut’ing. Jus’ stare.”
    “You t’ink he involved?”
    “In da accident?” Yu’s eyes suddenly looked confused.
    “Maybe he wen’ push her or somet’ing li’ dat?”
    “Why ask me? I no can see nut’ing.”
    “But you wen’ talk wit’ her during da ride, eh?”
    “Yeah, we wen’ talk. Shoots, she one foxy babe–an’ akamai .”
    “Akamai how?”
    “Smart, you know. Like one professor or somet’ing. She say she give one lecture, brah, dat night.”
    “Lecture? She say where?”
    “In Kaunakakai. At one health food store.”
    “I