Coming in from the road, you would never guess you were headed to an über-fancy resort. A one-lane road, a small burnished wood sign that readKiawenailed to a tree. A sandy path ran alongside the road, and she followed it until she got to a guard shack.
A man in a tight polo shirt popped his head out. “Aloha. Can I help you?”
“I’m headed to the Reef House for dinner.”
He looked up the road as if expecting someone else. “Just you?”
“Yes.”
“You walk here from Kona?”
She laughed. “No, I’m staying at the Kaupikos’.”
“Ah. Have you been to the Reef House before?”
“No.”
“Follow the road to the fork and turn right. You’ll see the signs. And watch for falling coconuts,” he said with a wink.
The foliage thickened, and the temperature cooled considerably among all the breathing trees. Small huts appeared here and there, set back from the road, with steep-pitched, thatched roofs. It felt like a ghost town but in a good way. Another burnished sign led her to a vast lawn with a much larger version of the huts right in the middle, lights strung up all around. The ocean lay just beyond a crop of lava rocks and coconut trees, none of which had any coconuts on them.
Minnow sat at the bar, since that would be her best shot at picking up any intel, and a small man named Chris greeted her in a singsong accent. “A special cocktail for the lady?”
She smiled. “Water is fine, thank you.”
“No one comes to my bar and just orders water, love. I’ll surprise you,” he said, flashing a set of teeth so white and straight, they could only be fake.
A drink might do her good. “All right, just not too strong, please.”
Several twisty, heart-shaped trees flanked the restaurant, adding much-needed shade and carrying with them a sweet woodsy scent. She took her time glancing around at the other patrons, most of them couples or groups of couples. A whole lot of linen, several straw hats, and most people in white.
A few minutes later, Chris set down a pale orange drink in a martini glass with a hunk of pineapple on the side. He stood waiting, so Minnow took a sip. Tart passion fruit, vodka, bubbles, and very strong.
“You like?” he asked.
Her mouth puckered, but she had to admit it was good. She nodded. “How long have you worked here, Chris?”
“Long time. Twenty years now.”
“You must have a lot of stories.”
He laughed. “Oh, I just make the drinks and keep my ears and mouth shut.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“What about you? What’s your story?” he asked, scooping ice into glasses lightning fast and on autopilot.
“I’m a scientist.”
“What do you study?”
She figured she may as well be honest this time. Word would get out anyway.
“Sharks. White sharks, in particular.”
“Careful about saying thesword too loud around here. Mr. Sawyer won’t be keen to hear it,” he said, nodding toward a mustached man in white linen pants and button-up speaking to someone at a table.
Mr. Sawyer owned the joint, she knew from Joe. The sun, which now sat perched on a hill of clouds on the horizon, reflected in Sawyer’smirrored shades. He looked like he’d stepped off a boat from Central America.
