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

cheese is back.”
    “Huh?” I said.
    “You know, hot bread. From the Kanemitsu Bakery.”
    I continued to look confused, so she explained, “It starts at eighty-thirty, maybe nine. They open the back door to the bakery and you get fresh bread, right out of the oven. It comes with toppings. They ran out of cream cheese a few nights ago, but I heard they got more.”
    “Why would people go to a bakery at nine o’clock at night?” I said.
    She shrugged. “What else you gonna do around here? Besides, people get the munchies, you know? Or drunks gotta eat somethin’ to sober ‘em up before the drive home. It’s like what they call a public service, eh?”
    I decided I’d run by the Kanemitsu Bakery on my way back from dropping off Hatch. I ordered strawberry and cream cheese. The bread was warm and fragrant. The red gooey strawberry topping dripped down my hand and onto my shirt. I was a sticky mess, but the sugar rush made me feel a little better after watching Hatch’s plane disappear into the dark.
    Back at the condo, I looked in the mirror, and it looked like I’d been shot. I didn’t care; I agreed with our waitress. Hot bread on Moloka’i was definitely a public service.
     

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 10
 
    Monday was April 15, income tax day in America. I’d done my taxes weeks before, since I was self-employed and I paid quarterly taxes throughout the year. It wasn’t something I enjoyed doing, so getting it off my desk and off my mind was always a relief.
    I called Lono’s mother, Malama, at ten in the morning.
    “ Aloha , Malama,” I said. “My name is Pali Moon, and I’m a wedding—”
    “Ah, yes. I’ve been hoping you’d call,” she said. “Leonard told me you were putting on a wedding out at Mr. Bustamante’s place.”
    “Leonard?”
    “Yes, my son. He probably called himself ‘Lono’ when he talked to you. He’s named after my favorite uncle, but Leonard never liked the name. I guess that happens sometimes, you know?”
    “Oh, yes. I know,” I said.
    “Anyway, tell me how I can help.”
    “I guess Leonard told you I’m from Maui,” I said. “I have a wedding planning business over there, and I have a bride who wants to do her wedding here on Moloka’i. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of a fish out of water over here. I’d really like to meet with you and see if we could work together on this.”
    “I’d be happy to get together with you,” she said. “Where and when? You pick.”
    “I’m in Kaunakakai,” I said. “And I’m free all this morning.”
    “Good. I’m out in Maunaloa, but I need to go to town today, anyway. You want to meet somewhere closer to you?”
    “I don’t know the area. Do you have a suggestion?”
    “How about Moloka’i Burger?” she said. “You know where that is?”
    “I know exactly where it is.”
    “Fine. I’ll see you there in an hour.” She hung up, leaving me with a good feeling that if her brevity and efficiency in rounding up vendors and putting on a wedding was even half as good as her ability to schedule an impromptu meeting, I was home free.
    I got to the burger place a half hour later and Malama was already there. She waved me over, which was a good thing, since I’d forgotten to ask how I’d recognize her. She bore a striking resemblance to Lono—brown-skinned, broad-shouldered, with thick black hair that fell to her shoulders—but then so did most of the other people in the restaurant. She had her hair combed straight back and secured with a bright pink headband.
    “I knew it was you,” she said. She stood and reached a hand across the small table. “Since yours is the only face I’ve never seen in here before.”
    We shook hands and she got right down to business.
    “How many guests are you expecting?” she said.
    I told her at least fifteen but no more than twenty, but I added that George Bustamante had made it clear everyone had to stay outside.
    She smiled and shrugged. “No worries. Mr.