Free O'ahu Lonesome Tonight? (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series #5) by JoAnn Bassett

both
sides. But the two men stood to shake Jeff’s hand.
    “Hi, I’m Stu,”
said Stuart.
    “And I go by Moko ,” said Michael.
    “Good to meet
you,” said Stu. “ Pali tells us you’re some kind of
rocket scientist. That true?”
    “Something like that.”
    “And you work
for the feds on some top-secret weapons project?”
    “Not exactly.” By this point Jeff was shooting me major stink
eye .
    “You have
anything to do with that drone stuff? You know, killing unarmed people from a
mile up or whatever.”
    Jeff said
nothing but kept the stink eye going.
    Moko spoke up. “So, you and Pali are related through your mom’s ohana ?”
    “Yeah,” said
Jeff. Actually, Jeff was also related to Stu and Moko via my father’s family but from the look on his face I knew better than to whip
out a genealogy chart and make the connection.
    “It’s past
three,” Jeff said. “You said we had to leave at three.”
    “Oh, that’s
right.” I turned and put a hand on Moko’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, but I need to run.”
    Stu took the
leatherette folder containing the bill off the table and held it up. “You want
me to handle this?”
    “No, that’s
okay. I’ve got it. You guys leave the tip, okay?”
    “I can give you
my part,” said Moko .
    “No. It’s my
treat. I’m the big sister.” I smiled and Moko returned it but Stu’s eyes narrowed.
    “That’s right,”
said Stu. “Dad put you in charge of all us ‘little’ kids, didn’t he?”
    I let it slide
and gave Stu and Moko a hug good-bye.
    It was still
raining when we left. When we got about a block away, Jeff said, “Did you set
it up so I’d have to come down and meet those two?”
    “No. It was an
honest mistake and I’m sorry. But they’re actually nice guys. In fact, Stu was
at the U of W when you were. He graduated in 2005.”
    “Huh. Well, I’m
not surprised. From all appearances, it looks like he’s made excellent use of
his BS degree.”
     
    CHAPTER 11
     
    We headed to
the Shore Bird restaurant that night. I hoped grilling his own steak would
improve Jeff’s sour mood. At least it gave us something to do besides sitting
at the table staring each other down.
    “You think this
thing is done?” said Jeff as he hoisted a thick slab of beefsteak off the hot
grill. He’d speared it on a long barbeque-style fork and it dangled from the
implement like caveman food. 
    “I wouldn’t
know,” I said. “Ask the guy.”
    There was a
“grill sergeant” stationed by the huge grill racks to help those who found
cooking their own dinner a challenge. Jeff flagged the guy and after a quick
probe with a thermometer, the steak was declared “medium-rare.”
    I’d ordered the
fish. I was given a fat chunk of mahi-mahi that only required a few minutes on
each side. At home, Steve is the cook in our household. I’m an appreciative
diner, but the extent of my cooking prowess pretty much ends with soup (out of
a can) and salad (out of a bag).
    I slid the
steaming fish onto my dinner plate and made my way back to our table. Luckily,
we’d arrived early enough to get a table out front, near the beach. The tables
in the back were like sitting in a smokehouse since the trade winds pushed the
rolling smoke from the six grills back that way and it got trapped by the rear
wall of the restaurant.
    “Sheesh. Who’d want to sit there?” I said.
    “A ham, maybe?”
said Jeff. “Or maybe a side of bacon or beef jerky. They smoke jerky, don’t they? Or is it just dehydrated?”
    “How’s your
steak?” I said. I had no idea how meat was processed and I didn’t want to dwell
on thinking about it while I enjoyed my fish.
    “Great. It’s
huge, though. I’ll probably need a doggie bag.”
    We sat in
silence for a minute or two.
    “You want to
talk about it?” I said.
    “Not
especially.”
    “Well, let’s
talk about something . How about we discuss what we’re going to do
tomorrow?”
    “If this rain
keeps up, it narrows our