Surfing Detective 00 - The Making of Murder on Molokai

you the doctor’s name and the others.”
    We walked into the tack room with the saddles and blankets and harnesses hanging on the wall. From the drawer of a small, dusty desk Moreno pulled out a guest book and opened it to a date in early September.
    “This is the day,” he said. “There were four riders besides the young lady who died. None of them seemed to know the others. One was the doctor. And there were two more men and a woman.”
    “May I copy their names and addresses?”
    “Sure.” He handed me the dusty book. The doctor whose name was Benjamin Ganjo kept his office in Honolulu. The woman, Heather Linborg, lived on Maui. The second man, Milton Yu, gave an address on the Hamakua Coast of the Big Island. And the third man, Emery Archibald, listed only “Island Fantasy Holidays, Glendale, CA.”
    “What can you tell me about these four people?” I asked Moreno.
    “That was a month ago,” he said. “Usually I forget customers’ faces after that long, but the accident, you know, kind of riveted me.”
    “I understand.”
    “The woman, Heather, was a nice-looking blond. Very nice. And young. In her twenties.”
    “Did she talk much with Sara?”
    “Not that I recall,” Moreno said. “Heather talked mostly with the local Chinese man, Milton Yu.”
    “What about this Archibald? Did he talk with Sara, or act strangely around her?”
    “Oh, he talked with her, I’m sure. But no differently than anybody does on a mule ride. Just visited with her, if you know what I mean.”
    “And the doctor?” I asked.
    “Same thing,” Moreno said. “That Dr. Ganjo was on the heavy side. I gave him my biggest mule.”
    “Did the doctor make any attempt to help Sara when she fell?”
    “There was no use,” the mule guide said. “We couldn’t reach her in the gorge.”
    I pulled out the photo Adrienne had given me of J. Gregory Parke and showed it to Moreno. “Have you ever seen this man?”
    Moreno’s almond eyes squinted. He twitched his mustache.
    “Yeah, I’ve seen him.”
    “You have?” I was stunned, but tried not to show it.
    “He rode to Kalaupapa a day or two before the accident.”
    “Can you verify that?”
    “By the guest book.” He turned back one page to the day before Sara’s fatal ride. “Here are the names. You can look for yourself.”
    Sure enough, on the list was “J.G. Parke.” Could Adrienne have a case after all?
    “Can you remember anything about Parke?” I asked Moreno.
    “He’s in his fifties, I’d say. Turning grey. Quiet. He seemed preoccupied,” the mule guide said. “Didn’t take much interest in the tour.”
    I put away the photo. “Can we hike down the trail now to see where Sara fell?”
    “Sure.” He took out a cash box. “Do you want to pay now or later?”
    “Now is fine.” I pulled out my wallet and handed him some bills.
    “Sorry, I have to ask,” Moreno said, “but I’ve got few customers since the accident, except hikers.”
    “No Problem.”

V: Chapter Ten: Mauna Kea Takes Kai’s Parents

    In chapter ten Kai interviews witness Heather Linborg on
Maui, then flies to the Big Island along the
H
a
m
a
kua Coast to interview another witness, Milton Yu. Through the airplane’s windows the PI watches Maui’s Hana Highway curve along the
coast, reflects on his conversation with Lingborg, and then, as
the Big Island comes into view, he spots Mauna Kea, Hawai‘i’s tallest mountain, which he describes as “cloud shrouded and dominating.” In the earlier versions of the novel, seeing Mauna
Kea prompted him to reflect on the accidental death of his
parents on this mountain and how it changed his life. This excerpt contains details of Kai’s childhood and his motivation for becoming a private detective—namely, to vindicate his father from causing the accident.

(cut from)
ten

    At a few minutes past noon the Hilo-bound DC-9 rumbled over Kahului Bay. As the crowded liner banked southeast along Maui’s Hana coast, I had a moment to contemplate Heather Linborg. I couldn’t get over her lie. Or her gold bikini.
    Below the climbing jet, fabled Hana Highway coiled along the twisting coastline. Deep emerald canyons of bamboo, breadfruit, and flowering
ohi‘a
were pierced by silver dagger waterfalls. I could see a sampling of the winding road’s six hundred curves and hairpins, and fifty-odd bridges, knowing them all first-hand. As we glided over this craggy, foam-washed coast with majestic Haleakala towering in the distance, I