"That's it?" he said.

"Pretty much."

"Have you talked to Farrah?"

I nodded.

"What'd she say?"

"She did a tarot reading for the bridal couple and didn't like the groom much. I showed her the hair before I gave it to Wong and she said it gave off a really bad vibe. I think her words were 'feels to me like that missing girl's in deep doo-doo'."

"Yeah? Well, I vote with her."

"So, what should I do?"

"I think you know what you should do, but you don't want to do it."

"Story of my life."

"Story of everybody's life," he said with a smile. "That's why we kick major ass around here."

It was coming up on eight o'clock when I turned into the alley behind my shop. I'd spent the entire commute to Lahaina fussing over what to do about Crystal, and I wasn't any further along than I'd been in Pa'ia. I parked as close to the wall as I could to block entry to my passenger-side door with the broken lock. I pushed down the locks on the other doors before heading upstairs. The smell in the alley seemed pretty tame and I hoped the atmosphere in my shop would follow suit. I'd be leaving in less than an hour, though, so no biggie.

I turned the key in the door and, as I entered, I checked the desk phone to see if the message light was blinking. It wasn't.

My appointment with the limo service was at nine, and the place was only fifteen minutes away. I busied myself getting the coffee all set up, everything ready to go, for my eleven o'clock meeting with Keith and Nicole. I considered going over to Star Market to pick up some pastries, but nixed that idea. It'd be better to treat them to lunch downstairs at Hargrove's. A rather expensive gesture, but I figured I needed to haul out the lavish to make up for not getting in touch with them all weekend.

I pulled up to Napili Limo at nine on the dot and Manny waved me in past a snarling Doberman. He held the dog's collar while I got out.

"You need that beast to keep out intruders?" I said.

"I keep him for show. I don't want nobody messing with my cars. But he don't bite. Never has. I think if some guy showed up with a mess of jerky ol' Duke here would let him drive a limo right on outta here." He scrubbed the dog's ears, and the Doberman nuzzled his hand for more.

"Can I see the cars you've got lined up for me for this weekend?"

"Sure, no worries. I saved the best ones for you."

I looked around the scrubby dirt lot. There were three limos-two white, one black.

"I ordered four," I said.

"Yeah, I know. I got one getting the tires rotated."

"C'mon, Manny. Don't mess with me. Where's the fourth one?"

He shook his head. "Cracked up. My brother takes it out for one night and manages to run off the highway down by Puamana. Tore the shit out of the undercarriage." He grinned. "But don' you worry, I got an uncle up in Wailuku. He's got a nice van. Real clean. He offered to ride your people."

"Manny, these are rich California people. They can tell the difference between a minivan and a limo."

"But it's real nice. Kind of a dark red. Got chrome rims-the whole nine yards."

It was too late for me to find something else. I'd have to mention the van at today's meeting with Keith and hope he'd go along with it.

"Okay, Manny, but I'm not paying limo prices for your uncle's keiki-van ride. Half."

"Half? No way. The gas is the same, the wear on the tires the same, and I gotta pay the driver for the same amount of time."

"The driver's gonna be your uncle, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then he gets half. If he's smart and he shows them a good time maybe he'll get a nice tip. But I'm not paying a hundred bucks an hour for a Wailuku minivan, nice rims or no. Fifty bucks-tops. And I want you to shave a little off the others because you promised me four limos and you're only giving me three."

He stared at me; I stared back.

"God, you're a mean wahine. I try to make a living here, you know? I got two kids, and this dog here eats like a third kid. It's not easy, dude."

I was getting perturbed. "Look Manny, when your brudda smacked up your limo you should've called me and told me what was up. I don't like surprises. Especially last-minute surprises. Now, do we have a deal or not?"

"How about ninety bucks for the others and seventy-five for the van?" he offered.

"How about I take my business someplace else?" I started for my car, aware that if Manny let go of that Doberman, he might get to see his dog bite someone for the very first time.

"Okay, okay. Seventy-five for the limos, fifty for the van."

"And who's going to be driving?" I said.

"I drive the bride and her girls; my brudda Kane-he's not the one who did the crash, that's my other brudda-drives the groom with the guys. I'll get my sister's husband, Larry, to drive the third limo and then my uncle will bring over the van. Sound good?"

I'd worked with everyone he'd mentioned except the Wailuku uncle. "Can I call your uncle and talk to him beforehand?"

"Sure. He works swing, unloading barges at the Kahului wharf. But you can call him in the afternoon-around four o'clock, before he has to be at work."

Terrific. Today I get to tell Keith that not only is he not getting the four limos I'd promised, but the replacement van will be driven by a day-sleeping longshoreman.

I gave Manny his deposit and got a receipt. I went through the timetable with him and warned him of the consequences for being even ten minutes late.

"Whoo-ee, you one hard-ass lady," he said. "I don't know why you pound on me so bad. Have I ever let you down?"

I made it back to the shop by ten-thirty and, again, parked close to the wall to prevent anyone from getting into my car through the unlocked passenger door.

By ten-forty, the coffee was perking and I'd fought back the downstairs kitchen smells using my arsenal of odor fighters.

I pulled out the Keith Lewis/Nicole Johnson wedding file to scan for any overlooked details while I waited.

At eleven-ten, I got up and peered out the window to see if Keith and Nicole were cruising for parking. Except for my Geo the alley was empty, with at least a half-dozen open spots going begging.

I called their cells but in both cases it went directly to voicemail. I left the same message on both phones: Hi, it's Pali. I'm hoping you're on your way down for our meeting today. Everything looks good. I just want to go over the final schedule with you. See you soon!

When the minute hand on my desk clock clicked on the six for eleven-thirty, I started pacing. Up to that point Nicole and Keith had never been late for a meeting and I was feeling the weight of not returning Keith's call from last weekend. What if something had come up with Crystal and they'd needed my help? What if Nicole or another girl had also gone missing? I plopped down in the guest chair and put my head in my hands.

Sifu Doug had said I knew what I needed to do. Problem was, I didn't. I only knew how I felt. And how I felt was worried. Worried and sick at heart.

CHAPTER 14.

No sense sitting around waiting for the bridal couple to show up. It was nerve-wracking and I'm not a patient person. Better to drive up to the Ritz and see if they'd overslept-or if they hadn't checked their cell phone messages and weren't aware I'd asked for the meeting.

I locked up and went down to the alley. My car had a folded piece of paper stuck onto the front windshield. No biggie. Every few days I get a flyer on my car. Usually it's for things like outcall massage, an all-you-can-eat luau, or a timeshare solicitation with a fantastic offer of a free sunset cocktail cruise in exchange for only ninety minutes of your vacation time.

I plucked the paper from under the windshield wiper and flipped it open. The handwriting was in a childish print, black ballpoint pen. We got the girl. $500,000 US or she dies. No cops. Tell him he nows were to send the money.

Aside from the obvious misspelling of 'knows' and 'where' and the reference to the money in US funds, the note provided few clues as to who'd written it. I called Wong on his cell but it immediately went to his voice mail. Then I took off for the Ritz, hoping against hope Keith and Nicole might have some answers.

I parked in the upper lot and made my way down to the lobby. At the desk, I asked the clerk to ring room number 2371.

He picked up the house phone and put his hand over the receiver, "And your name is?"

"Pali. Pali Moon."

"Oh," he said, putting the phone back down. "I believe we have a message for you." He flipped through a box with tabs marked with room numbers. "Yes, here it is." He brought out a bulging cream-colored business-size envelope with my name written on it and the Ritz Carlton logo thickly embossed in the upper left corner next to the return address. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to tip him or not, so I settled for flashing a big smile and offering a sincere 'Mahalo'.

I asked if Keith Lewis was still registered at the hotel. The clerk tapped on his keyboard, paused, then tapped some more. He stared at the screen, then tapped the 'enter' key about ten times. I wondered if he was messing with me for not offering a tip or if locating a registered guest really required that many keystrokes.

"It says here he checked out this morning. At eleven thirty-two. Our normal checkout time is eleven, but since Mr. Lewis was in the Hanalei Suite, we allowed his party a little leeway."

In other words, I thought, you'd already extracted an obscene sum of money from him so why quibble over an extra half hour.

"And the others in his party? Have they checked out as well?"

"Hmm. Let me see. His file shows he was responsible for six additional rooms. It'll take me a moment to review the status." He typed. And typed.

"Yes, the entire Lewis party departed this morning and the bill is paid in full. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I turned and noticed a line had formed behind me.

"No, mahalo for your time."

I wandered into the lobby wondering if Keith had run out on me without paying. If so, I'd be kicking myself for years to come. Most couples provide me with a credit card to pay their expenses, and then I present them with an invoice on the day of the wedding-a detailed receipt for their records even though their card has already been charged. Keith had been unwilling to give me a credit card. Instead, he'd offered a three thousand-dollar retainer with a promise to pay the bill in cash the day before the wedding. The retainer, along with his pricey on-island address of the biggest suite at the Ritz, had convinced me he'd be good for it.

Now I felt like an idiot for not demanding a card. I sat down heavily in the same comfy chair I'd occupied when I'd met with Keith the previous Friday. I carefully unsealed the flap on the envelope. The envelope was so chubby I wondered if he'd enclosed photos or maybe a rambling letter of excuses for ditching at the last minute.

Before I could allow myself to look at what was inside, I calculated my situation. The Lewis/Johnson wedding expenses were already at nearly five thousand dollars, even before the seventy-five-dollar-a-plate wedding dinner and the two-thousand-dollar photo shoot. Keith had given me three thousand, which meant I'd need more than five thousand to come out whole. I'd owe at least three thousand in cancellation fees and non-refundable costs like the printing. I shut my eyes and took out the contents of the envelope. Right away I could feel it wasn't photos or pages of Ritz-Carlton stationery; it was cash. I clutched the wad in my fist for a few seconds, conjuring up good vibes. I vowed that if Keith had made me whole on the money I owed, I'd donate any extra to charity.

I looked down at the money. It was a thick wad-all hundred-dollar bills. I flicked through the stack, then looked up, wondering if it was wise to be flashing so much kala around in a public place. I shifted in my seat, allowing me to count the money while hiding it between my hip and the upholstered arm of the chair. It took me nearly five minutes to count it and then count it again.

The ride back to Hali'imaile ended up taking less than an hour but it felt like an eternity.

"Hey, what're you doing home so early?" Steve said looking up from reading the morning paper. "You've got some messages over there by the phone."

"I'll bet one of them is from my buddy, Keith Lewis, blowing off his wedding this Saturday."

"What? No, he didn't call, and when I talked with him yesterday he seemed rarin' to go. He even asked if we could maybe move the bride's photo shoot up to Friday."

"Well, they didn't come to their countdown meeting this morning and when I went up to the Ritz to find out what happened, the entire wedding party had checked out."

"Sounds like maybe Ken and Barbie got cold feet. But at least you're covered with his credit card."

"He didn't give me a card."

"Whoa, I thought you always got a credit card."

"Normally I do, but in this case he insisted on paying in cash. He gave me a three grand retainer when we signed the contract, and promised to settle up the rest on Friday. But I'm okay. Look what he left me at the hotel desk." I reached into my beach bag purse and pulled out the Ritz Carlton envelope. I removed the cash and fanned it out on the table.

Steve's mouth gaped open. "Wow, how much you got there?"

"Ten thousand bucks."

"Did he owe that much?"

"No, he owed only about half that. Once I pay my people and take my commission I'll still be ahead almost four grand."

"Are you giving him a refund?"

"I'll offer if I hear from him, but for now it seems he's in the wind. I've left three messages on his cell and he hasn't called back. The only mainland address I have is a post office box in Del Mar, California. Which brings me to my next problem. Look at this." I handed him the paper I'd found on my windshield.

"Holy crap, Pali, this is a ransom note!"

"Yeah, it sure looks like it. I left Glen Wong a voicemail but I haven't heard back from him yet."

"Pali, this is serious. They could be torturing that poor girl right now. I think you should call the police station and tell them you've got an emergency. Make them track Glen down immediately."

He was right, of course. Sometimes I don't trust my emotions. I'd learned long ago to tuck them away where they couldn't bite me in the ass. But I'd been fretting over Crystal for almost a week. Finding the fingernails and then the ransom note had ramped my fret level up to near full-blown panic, but panic was an emotion I'd been taught to disregard. For me, panic was right up there with crying. It's okay to want to do it, but not okay to actually do it.

CHAPTER 15.