Surfing Detective 02 - Wipeout

overlooking the soaring brow of the islands’ most famous crater, barely visible in the fading twilight. I glanced at the pricey wine list and ordered a beer. Leimomi did too. We raised our glasses and I toasted Leimomi’s beauty and good health. We were off to a good start. Her earlier upset seemed to be wearing off.
    Sipping my beer, I noticed two men in black suits sitting across from us who appeared, from their overly formal attire, to be
malihini
. They were an odd pair in this chic Honolulu restaurant, where casual aloha attire was the norm. They kept gazing toward Leimomi, which kind of flattered me. They’d probably never seen a more beautiful island girl.
    Just then I made the mistake of mentioning I had surfed that morning at Waimea Bay. The usually soft-spoken Leimomi reacted in a way that set my teeth on edge.
    “I wish you wouldn’t ride those huge waves,” she said stridently. “Surfers get killed, you know.”
    “I know.” I tried to put her mind at ease. “I’m working on a case involving that California surfer who died last Christmas Eve at Waimea. That’s why I was there.”
    “What’s to investigate?” she asked, still with a sharpness in her voice that surprised me.
    “His insurance company won’t pay because of some questions about his wipeout. Like, did he really die? Or was he faking it?”
    “What did you find out?”
    “Nothing for sure yet. But if he was trying to escape his pregnant wife and the responsibilities of fatherhood, I can think of a lot easier ways.”
    Leimomi gazed at me silently. Her cheeks colored. “Kai . . .” she began and then stopped.
    “What, Lei?” She was starting to worry me.
    “I’m thinking . . . “ She paused again and tears welled in her eyes. “No, I can’t burden you . . . until I’m sure . . .”
    “Leimomi, you already have.” I was getting agitated. She was dangling a carrot in front of me, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to bite it.
    “That surfer,” she started again, “trying to escape the responsibilities of fatherhood . . .”
    “What? Does he remind you of your father? How he skipped out on you and your mother?” I was grasping at something, anything, to steer the conversation away from me, and remembered that Leimomi’s dad had been put away for dealing drugs.
    “Well, I do wonder about Daddy and I miss him, but that’s not what I was thinking about.”
    “What were you thinking?” I was starting to sweat.
    “Kai, I’m pregnant.” She watched my face for a response.
    “Are you sure?” I asked, my expression frozen.
    “I’m over a week late . . .” Leimomi blushed. “I’m always, I mean, I’m usually on time, like a clock.”
    “O.K.” My aloha shirt suddenly felt swampy. “Let’s not overreact . . . I mean . . . it’s perfectly natural. We’ll figure something out. Let’s stay calm.”
    “I’d love to have our baby, Kai,” she went on, her tears flowing now, “but this isn’t . . . the best time in my life . . . not until I finish my courses.”
    “Are you sure it isn’t a false alarm, Lei?” Maybe she had calculated wrong. She sometimes did that, confusing dates or dollar amounts. God, I hoped she was wrong.
    “I doubt it. I’m too long overdue.”
    I sat back in my chair and took another drink of beer, which now tasted pretty flat. I guess it was too late to slip away.

Seven

    I sat staring into my coffee at Denny’s in Waikiki the next morning. As much as I cared for Leimomi, I knew I didn’t want to be the father of her baby.
How did I let it go this far?
I tried to picture Leimomi in the same state as Summer, swollen with child, then shook the image out of my head.
    Nine o’clock came and went. Summer still hadn’t shown.
    I tried to focus on the case. What about that gravelly thick accent at the Kahala phone number Summer had given me? The voice didn’t fit her profile. If she or Corky had friends in Hawai‘i, they would more likely be people like themselves—transplanted Californians or
kama
‘aina haole
types, or maybe surfers who sounded local. But not wealthy foreigners who lived in O‘ahu’s poshest oceanside enclave.
    Through the steam swirling skyward from my cup I watched the morning flow of beach-goers and surfers filing down Kapahulu Avenue. No rain today. The sun glowed over Diamond Head and glinted on the tiny shore break of Waikiki Beach. I gazed down in front of Starbucks, figuring Summer would be hard to miss in the crowd. No sign of her.
    At quarter