Free JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby by JoAnn Bassett

kitchens in both of those ohanas ,” he said, gesturing to the guesthouses down by the pool. “I’ll allow you to use them, as long as you clean up after yourself.”
    “May I see them?”
    “What’s to see? They’re kitchens. Stove, refrigerator, microwave; each one is fully stocked.”
    “Mind if we look around a little at the grounds? I suppose we could do the ceremony by the pool and then have the dinner on the lanai.”
    “The lanai is part of the house,” he countered.
    “Yeah, but it’s outside.”
    We stared each other down like two cats who’d come to use the lone litter box at the same time; neither willing to give way to the other.
    “I suppose I can allow you to eat up there,” he said. “But the sliding doors will be locked. If people need to use the john, they’ll have to use the ones in the ohanas .” He paused. “How many people are we talking about here?”
    “Fifteen. Maybe a few more.”
    “Ah.” He shook his head but his ratty hair stayed put. The shaggy locks made him look a lot like that guy in the old Beetlejuice movie.
    Throughout the negotiation, Hatch had discreetly remained at the far end of the sidewalk. George Bustamante turned and went back into the house, slamming the door as a final coda to what he must have considered a less than agreeable duet.
    “That was the groom’s friend?” Hatch said as we walked back to the car. “I didn’t catch it all, but he didn’t sound happy. Maybe he’s pissed your guy didn’t ask him to be ‘best man.’”
    “No, that’s not it. The two are in business together, and this week something bad happened at work. George must be having second thoughts about offering his place for the wedding.”
    “Can you move it somewhere else?” Hatch said.
    “I don’t know. I’ll ask Lono’s mother when I talk to her.”
    I drove us back to Papohaku Beach  Park, where I’d been yesterday, and parked the car.
    “Here we are,” I said. “The biggest beach in Hawaii.”
    “According to the locals,” said Hatch. “Let’s check it out for ourselves.”
    We walked through a wide grassy area shaded by a thick grove of kiawe trees. When we topped the small dune that blocked the view to the beach beyond it was like being in an airplane and coming out of thick cloud cover into bright sunshine.
    The beach stretched wide on either side of us for as far as I could see. The soft sand sloped down to the water, unblemished by even a single footprint. The effect made me gasp. I’d never seen such an unspoiled, pristine beach.
    “Wow,” said Hatch. “Can you believe this?”
    “No. And people think Hana is secluded? This is like ‘land on Mars and find a beach’ secluded.”
    “Do you want to walk the whole three miles?” he said. “There’s got to be somebody else out here.”
    But there wasn’t. We walked the entire length of Papohaku Beach and only encountered one other person: a woman coming through the park as we were going back to the car.
    I felt a little sorry for her. She’d have to put up with seeing our footprints until the waves obliged and wiped them away.
    “I can’t believe we never heard of this place,” said Hatch.
    “Seems there’s a lot about this island we’ve never heard of,” I said.
    After our long slog through the soft sand, we were famished.
    “Do you think there’s a restaurant on this end of the island?” Hatch said.
    We drove back toward town, slowing at every wide spot in the road, but we didn’t find a single eating establishment.
    “Not even a huli-huli chicken stand,” Hatch said. “I guess that’s what you get for having a beach all to yourself. But, seriously, how tough could it be to throw some chicken parts over a fire in a sawed-off oil drum? There’s no competition. A guy could make a fortune.”
    “You thinking of looking into Moloka’i real estate?” I said.
    “Don’t tempt me,” he said. “You know me, always thinking about the next big adventure. But this place may be a