"Can I come by for a few minutes? I won't stay long."

"It's a free country," he said. Then, as if he realized how snippy that sounded, he continued, "No really, come on over. I'll be up 'til ten."

Hatch lives in a swanky neighborhood called Sprecklesville. Not a very Hawaiian-sounding name, the area was established over a hundred and fifty years ago as a thriving sugar mill operation owned by "boss man" Claus Spreckles. Now the sugar refinery is gone, and what's left is a pristine beachfront community of multi-million-dollar homes. Hatch's cottage sits at the entrance to a sprawling property owned by an Australian film producer. The movie guy and his entourage show up a few times a year. The rest of the time Hatch pretty much has the run of the place. He'd become a de facto "boss man" himself, managing a small army of landscapers, housekeepers and maintenance people who troop through, day after day, keeping up the main house, three guest houses, two pools (salt- and freshwater) and assorted outbuildings and gardens. The property even boasts a heli-pad and an observatory complete with mini-Hubble telescope for stargazing.

As I was making my way through the West Maui hills, my cell rang. I'm usually good about not taking calls while driving, but I was concerned maybe it was the weird guy who'd left the threatening message. I didn't want to miss talking with him in person.

"Ms. Moon?" I was wrong, it was Wong.

"Yes, Detective."

"Good news. Our forensic tech worked late tonight and I was able to catch her before she left. I showed her those fingernails. Seems they're fake. She said they're called 'silks,' made from a silk fabric which is applied over a woman's natural fingernails. Manicurists use them to strengthen the living nail and make the fingernails stronger and appear longer. They're easily removed with acetone and are believed to be easier on the nail bed than acrylics."

Did he call to give me a beauty school lesson?

"Anyway, I think the prankster is still just messing with you," he said. "Are you sure you can't think of anyone who might be behind this? Maybe someone who's faking foul play to get you to drag the police department in on the joke?"

He didn't wait for me to answer before going on. "You know, if we had any cause to believe this was for real, we'd be hard at it. But seventeen years on the job tells me we've got a practical joker here. You see what I'm saying?"

"No, I don't, Detective. Look, a woman is missing. Whether the hair and fingernails are real or fake doesn't change the fact that Crystal Wilson vanished nearly a week ago."

"We've gone down this road before, Ms. Moon. Right now we're working at least a dozen complaints involving visitors. We've got some who racked up big hotel charges using phony credit cards. We've got abandoned rental cars. We've got one case that's similar to yours where the so-called boyfriend took off and left his girlfriend stranded here with no money and no plane ticket home. Tourists pull the disappearing act all the time."

"So that's it?"

"For now. But don't hesitate to call if something new turns up." He said it the same way a shop clerk would chirp Have a nice day.

I turned off the Hana Highway at the sign marking the entrance to the Maui Country Club. Then I made a sharp left into a leafy lane that winds around the backside of the golf course. Hatch was sitting on his front lanai when I pulled up. He gave me a wave and pointed to a spot where I could park the Geo. When the owner was in town Hatch liked me to park out on the road, preferably a block or two out of sight of his landlord. Not that the TV producer was a prude about Hatch's love life; I think it had more to do with the aesthetics-or lack thereof-of my trashy-looking ride.

I got out of the car and took a deep breath. This area smelled like the exact opposite of my funky shop over the fish restaurant. Here, the wind carried scents of plumeria, gardenia and freshly cut grass. The hush of on-shore waves beyond the foliage was accompanied by lungfuls of oxygen-rich ocean air.

I approached the cottage and Hatch's Jack Russell-mix pup came charging through a hole in the screen door and out onto the lanai in a hail of high-pitched barking. Wahine-the Hawaiian word for 'lady'-never let physical barriers slow her down. She'd been known to leap from a moving boat to take a swim, and once she'd chewed through an inch-thick rope in mere minutes when Hatch tried to tie her up outside.

"She thinks getting tied up is like working a Sudoku-it's just a puzzle begging to be solved," Hatch had said.

When Wahine clearly saw me, or smelled me, or whatever means she used for ID'ing humans, she abruptly stopped barking and her tail went into overdrive.

"Hey, sweetie." I bent down and rubbed her chin, then moved to her chest, while she attempted to lick every trace of sea salt residue from my neck. I'm not a dog-person, per se, but I make an exception for 'Heen', Hatch's shortened-up name for her.

When I looked up, Hatch was waiting for me on the lanai. He was holding two wine glasses-white for me, red for him.

"Bed," he said in his daddy voice, and Heen trotted over and plopped down on a wadded-up blanket near the door.

He kissed me lightly on the lips, then handed me my wine.

"When you didn't call me back yesterday I thought maybe you'd decided to dump me but forgot to clue me in," he said. His voice was teasing, but in the meager glow of the yellow bug light I noticed a tight line across his forehead.

"No, I'm sorry, I was working. You know that guy, Ono, whose catamaran you recommended for this weekend's wedding? Well, his cabin girl got sick so he asked me to help out with a gig he had over in Honolulu."

Hatch raised his glass and took a long time, sniffing and swirling. He was no wine connoisseur, and chances were good the wine had come out of a box, so I figured his sommelier act was more a stalling tactic than an attempt to impress me with a newfound interest in oenology.

"You have a good time over there?"

"It went fine. I stayed with the woman who owns the boat. She's a really nice lady, and her condo is spectacular. She even gave me a silk bathrobe." Okay, I was laying Tomika's gender on a little thick, but I didn't want Hatch leaping to conclusions about the sleeping arrangements.

"I thought we had a date for Sunday. You didn't even bother to call and let me know you wouldn't be around."

"Again, I'm sorry. We left really early Saturday morning and then the weekend just sort of flew by."

"But I called you Halloween night and told you I would be off on Sunday. In fact, I left you a bunch of messages."

I only remembered one message, but I was already in the wrong so I didn't want to quibble. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you. It took a day to get over there and then we had to get ready for the party, and then it took another day to get back. All I can say is I'm really sorry."

He started the wine swirling thing again.

"Look, Hatch. I don't know what else to say except 'I'm sorry.' You've been busy, too-going out fishing and all. Can't you just accept my apology? It wasn't as if I purposefully didn't call you."

"So, what'd you think of Ono Kingston? Quite a guy, huh?"

I know a loaded comment when I hear one. "He's fine. He keeps the boat really clean and he's a good sailor. We made the crossing to O'ahu in about twelve hours."

"Did you get seasick?"

"Not really. I kind of liked the rockin' and rolling."

"Oh, I'm sure you did. And I'll bet he did too." By now my eyes had grown accustomed to the dark and I couldn't miss seeing his clenched jaw working a muscle in his cheek as if he was a cow chewing its cud.

"What's wrong with you? If you have something to say, then say it. I've already apologized for not calling. But I earned two hundred bucks for helping out with a boat party for the owner's business associates. That's it. If you're implying it was anything more than that, then say so."

"Pali, Pali." He said it as if he was talking to a kid caught playing with matches. Hatch had been a cop for seven years before switching to firefighting. He acted liked a fireman but often still thought like a cop.

"What, Hatch?" I sounded cranky, but I'd groveled enough.

"I don't have a problem with you doing stuff on your own. You're free to come and go, no problem. But in the case of Ono Kingston I feel kind of responsible for your safety since I'm the guy who gave you his name."

"My safety?"

"Look, I don't want to dis him or gossip or whatever you call it in Hawaiian-"

"Ka'ao. Gossip is called ka'ao."

"Anyway, it's just that although he seems like a stand-up guy, there's more to his life story than meets the eye."

"You mean about his drinking?" I felt a twinge betraying Ono's confidence, but I wanted to put the brakes on Hatch's holier-than-thou lecture before it really got rolling.

Hatch downed his wine. He crossed the lanai, settling into one of two sling-back chairs set on either side of a massive square ottoman. He pointed to the second chair in an unspoken offer for me to join him. I weighed my options.

"C'mon," he said after a few moments. "I'm the good guy here. It won't kill you to hear me out."

I plopped into the chair and put my feet up. The shush-shush of waves rolling in on the nearby beach tempted me to close my eyes and drift off. I was beat after the long day of sailing. If I hadn't been obliged to stick around as payback for blowing him off on Sunday, I'd have given Hatch a peck on the cheek and gone home. Instead, I braced for a sermon.

Hatch had only gotten a few words out when a wide-body jet on final approach to Kahului airport roared overhead. It was so low I could count the tires on the extended landing gear. The deafening din of the turbine engines rattled our wineglasses on the side table. As Farrah would say, the airport noise was karma in action. The swanky community sits smack dab in the flight path, only a few miles from the main runway. Usually, the planes come in from the other direction, over the cane fields. But when the wind shifts, they switch and come in over Sprecklesville. Each of those wide bodies is bringing in tens of thousands of tourist dollars, so the locals' calls for noise abatement procedures mostly fall on deaf ears. As the Maui Tourist Board likes to remind us, It's not noise, brudda, it's the sound of full employment.

"As I was saying," Hatch continued. "Overall, Ono's a good guy, but he's got a dicey side. I've heard some things. Try to avoid being alone with him when other people aren't around."

I wanted to laugh. Doesn't alone pretty much mean that other people aren't around? But decades of martial arts training had taught me to keep my emotions-and my smart-ass remarks-in check. I kept quiet.

We sat in silence for a long minute.

"Okay," he said. "I know, it sounds like I'm jealous or something. But that's not it. I swear."

Again, I didn't respond.

"You see," Hatch went on, "Kingston was a hot-shot architect over on the mainland. He was used to getting his way and having other people clean up his messes. Then his wife died and the guy went nuts. The doctor who'd misdiagnosed her cancer died from poisoning three days after her funeral. The police had Kingston in their radar, but they couldn't prove anything. Then, he started drinking, which I guess he told you about. But he wasn't just drinking. They were investigating him not only for the poisoning but for drug dealing, smuggling stuff down from Canada, all kinds of crap. Trust me, he may keep a clean boat, but he's one unstable dude."

"Hatch, I appreciate your concern, but it's unnecessary. First off, we were never alone. The first mate, Chico, was there when we were out on the catamaran, and when we got to O'ahu we stayed at the owner's place and she was home the entire time. So, even if Ono had nefarious plans in mind, he had no opportunity to act on them. Okay?"

Now it was Hatch's turn to be silent.

"I've got to get going," I said. I stood up. "I've got to check out limo drivers in the morning, and then I've only got four more days until the biggest wedding I've done in months."

Again, he played the mute card.

"Okay. You want me to thank you for giving me the heads-up on Kingston? Fine. I'll be careful. But in return, I need you to accept my apology for not calling on Sunday."

He nodded. "I'm working tomorrow but you can stay over if you want." It sounded less like an invitation than an attempt to clear the air.

"Mahalo, maybe next time."

I crossed the lanai and turned back and looked at him. More than anything, I wanted to ask his opinion of Crystal Wilson's disappearance, along with the hair, the fingernails, and the creepy voicemails. I'd been so relieved when Wong had taken the fingernails with him, but then he'd snatched away that good feeling with his last call. Maybe if Hatch heard me out and agreed with Wong that it was probably all a joke I could shake the nagging feeling I should be doing something about finding her.

"You got something else you want to say?" Hatch's tone let me know I was in jeopardy of overstaying my welcome.

"No, I'm just tired. I need to get to bed before I fall over."

"Take it easy up on Baldwin." He said, his voice softening. "Scanner's saying they've got a DD checkpoint set up near the Hana Highway intersection."

"Mahalo. I'll be careful."

Steve wasn't around when I got home. I didn't bother checking to see if he was upstairs, but went straight to my room, stripped off my clothes and crawled into bed. The wine, coupled with very little food all day, was working its magic on my usually racing thoughts. I was asleep before I knew it.

The next morning I awoke at five. Usually, I roll over and get my best sleep of the night until the alarm goes off at seven-thirty. But I couldn't drop off again. I tossed and turned, plumping the pillow and flipping it over for about a half hour before giving up. A beautiful young woman was out there, in the dark. Someone had chopped off her hair and ripped off her fake fingernails. Worse, from the looks of things, I was the only person on the entire island who gave a damn.

CHAPTER 13.

At six a.m. I pulled into a parking spot behind the Palace of Pain. For me, the best antidote to stress is an hour of kicking and screaming. I hadn't been down there for a while and I expected some ribbing from Sifu Doug, my kung fu instructor and the owner of PoP, but when I arrived he wasn't there.

I let myself in using the key I'd been given when I'd earned my first black belt. No matter how recently Doug had cleaned, the PoP always smelled the same: sweat and grimy feet. I kind of liked it. I imagined that's what my dad would've smelled like after a hard day at work. But I'd never know what my dad smelled like since he'd hot-footed it back to the mainland when I was just a baby. My mom died before I was old enough to ask her if she had any idea where he'd gone.

I flipped on a single light switch. There were four rows of fluorescent bulbs, but I preferred the cool, cave-like ambiance of just one row to the blazing in-your-face glare Sifu Doug insists on while teaching classes. I warmed up by going through my entire repertoire of forms. I usually skip the easy ones and get down to business, but I paid penance for my recent absence by starting at Form One and doggedly working my way up the line.

Around seven, my sifu showed up.

"Hey, call the cops. We got alien intruders in here!" Doug grinned and switched on the rest of the lights.

"Aloha, Sifu. I figured I better get back down here before you took my picture off the wall."

He turned toward the display of portraits of all the black belt fighters who trained at PoP. "You still up there? I tol' them to take you down months ago."

He came across the mat and we did a quick, but complicated handshake routine that included fist-bumps, palm slaps, and so on. It was one of those things the guys took very seriously but I never did. Nevertheless, I'd worked my way into acceptance and I wasn't about to blow it over some Mars versus Venus thing.

"What's with you skipping practice?" he said. "I was gonna call and nag you, but I ran into Steve at the market and he said you been real busy working on a fancy wedding."

"Yeah, I have. But it'll be over on Saturday. I promise I'll get down here more often after that."

"Good. Well, I've got some paperwork I need to catch up on. You're still planning on coming next Monday night, right?"

I hesitated. I'd completely forgotten Monday's promotion ceremony.

"Uh, sure. You need me to judge?"

"No, I've already got the judges lined up. But I like to have all the black belts here to observe. It means a lot to the little guys."

"How many are up for promotion?"

"Twenty-three. White to brown." That meant it would be an hours-long ceremony, mostly little kids. And, with brown belt as the highest level, pretty boring. But there was no way I'd gripe to my sifu.

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Great. Well, I'll let you get back at it. Good to see you, Pali. We miss you when you're not around." I felt a pang of remorse for staying away so long. Then it hit me. Doug was one of the most solid guys I knew-a happy family man, former Army Ranger. He was highly disciplined and no-nonsense. If he smelled a rat, it was time to bait the traps.

"Doug," I said. Doug turned, his eyes squinting at me as if I'd whispered help. I rarely addressed him by his given name and he seemed to sense I wasn't going to ask for tips on stance or breathing.

"What's up? You got some trouble?"

"I don't know." I asked if we could talk in his office for a few minutes. "I promise I'll keep it short."

"No worries. I'd rather blow off this paperwork for a while anyway."

I went through a quick review: finding the hair on Halloween; my trip to the police station; the bridal couple dismissing Crystal's disappearance because she was a flake; the fingernails hanging on my doorknob and, finally, Wong's claim that the whole thing was a prank. When I finished, I blew out a breath.