Free Dying for a Daiquiri by CindySample

beans? The lightest beans are our medium roast, which technically produces the purest tasting Kona coffee. Many people, especially Starbucks regulars, prefer the darker French roast. The higher temperatures required for their roasting removes some of the natural flavor though.”
    I mulled that over. “So if I prefer a light roast, I’m not a coffee weenie. I’m really a coffee connoisseur?”
    “That’s correct.” Regan reached into one of the bowls, grabbed a small round bean and passed it around. “Now the Peaberry is our most robust bean.”
    “Peaberry coffee usually costs more, doesn’t it?” Stan asked.
    Regan nodded. “It occurs when the coffee cherry yields only one bean instead of the usual two. It’s very rare.” She paused. “Sort of like a good man.”
    Before she could elaborate, the door opened and six more caffeine-seeking tourists entered. Regan looked at her watch. “Darn. I hoped to take you on a private tour, but we’re short-handed today. Victor needs to leave to help his wife and daughter prepare for Keiki’s funeral.”
    “Keiki’s funeral?” I asked. “Why would your staff be involved with that?”
    “Oh, I guess you didn’t know,” Regan replied. “Victor is married to Keiki’s mother.”
    “Her father works here too?”
    “Victor is, I mean, was Keiki’s stepfather. And he doesn’t just work here.” Regan gnawed on her lower lip. “Victor is my boss.”

 
     
     
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
     
    For a brief moment, you could have heard a coffee bean drop. Then the chatter of the other tourists filled the room.
    “Victor married Keiki’s mother several years ago,” Regan clarified. “Technically he’s my boss because he runs the coffee operation. Since I’m the controller, I also report to Ritz Nagrow, the owner. He…” she stopped as two men entered the center from the back of the building. “There’s Ritz and Victor now.”
    A short wiry Asian man in his early fifties conversed with a tall dark-haired man with cinematic good looks. Dressed in an off-white linen blazer and dark slacks, the taller man looked like he’d stepped off the movie set of South Pacific, ready to sing “Some Enchanted Evening.” I took a wild guess this was the owner. Regan gave a half-hearted wave in their direction and they headed toward us.
    She introduced the men to our group. “This is Ritz Nagrow, the owner of Koffee Land. And this is Victor Yakamura.”
    Mother took Victor’s calloused hand in both of hers. “We are all so sorry for your loss.”
    Victor stared at her with red-rimmed eyes, bordered by crow’s feet so deep they appeared etched in stone. “ Mahalo . Thank you,” he said, releasing her hand. “I must go home now and assist my daughter and my wife.”
    “We’ll talk about that matter tomorrow,” Ritz said to Victor.
    Keiki’s stepfather nodded then took his leave.
    “How do you like Koffee Land?” The dashing coffee plantation owner’s brown eyes sparkled as he beamed at our group. This man was either naturally energetic or he’d just drunk a pot full of Peaberry coffee.
    “They just arrived,” Regan told Ritz. “I was about to give them a tour.”
    “Of course, of course. They must have the grand tour,” he responded, his voice indicating a trace of an accent. “Feel free to tell them about our upcoming event. But, first, I must go over something with you. Perhaps your guests can sample one of our many delectable items while they wait.”
    “Um, okay.” She pointed to a shelf of brightly wrapped boxes. “If you’re hungry, check out our selection of donkey balls. They’re really tasty.”
    Liz and I looked at each other. Did Regan say what I thought she said? We zipped over to the aisle Regan had pointed to and discovered an assortment of Donkey Balls, a local brand of sphere-shaped chocolate candies with flavor options ranging from chocolate-covered macadamia nuts to chocolate and fruit-flavored malt balls larger than a super-sized