Hawaiian Sea Hunt Mystery

“Go ahead, Biff. This was your idea.”

“Sir,” Biff said, addressing the manager, “I wonder if you could find out if Dr. Weber usually had his breakfast in his room since he’s been here?”

“Easily, young man. Won’t take a minute.” The manager picked up the telephone on his desk.

“And would you ask if he had breakfast there yesterday morning?”

The manager nodded his head and spoke into the phone. He asked both questions Biff had suggested, nodded his head, and replaced the phone on its cradle.

“No real help there. Sometimes he called for breakfast service; sometimes not. Yesterday morning, room service reports, there was no call from Suite 210-11 – that’s where Dr. Weber was staying.”

“Well, one more thing.” Biff continued his role of detective. “Would the same maids who were on duty yesterday be on duty this morning?”

“I’ll check that with the floor supervisor. I think I know what your question will be – had Dr. Weber’s bed been slept in?”

Biff smiled. “That’s right, sir.”

Again the manager placed his call and asked his questions.

“The floor supervisor will call back as soon as she’s checked. Only take a minute or two. While we wait, let me extend my welcome to Hawaii to you. I regret that this most unfortunate situation has come about. But I’m sure Dr. Weber will be found.”

“Thank you,” Thomas Brewster said. “I hope you are right.”

The telephone rang.

“Yes. Yes. I see. Thank you.” The manager replaced the phone. “The supervisor says the maid who takes care of that suite said Dr. Weber’s bed had not been slept in Monday night.”

Biff looked from his father to Mr. Mahenili. Nothing was said for a moment. Then Mr. Brewster spoke.

“Any more questions, Biff?”

“No, sir. Can’t think of anything else, Dad. Not now.”

“Well, we have established the fact that Dr. Weber must have disappeared sometime on Monday,” Mr. Brewster said.

“That was the day he telephoned you, wasn’t it, Dad?” Biff asked.

“Yes. I talked to him late in the afternoon. Here, that would have been around noon, Hawaii time. I know he was calling from this hotel. So, we can pinpoint his disappearance from sometime between noon Monday, to early Monday night. The doctor always retired early.”

“Thank you very much for your cooperation, Mr. Pierson,” Mr. Mahenili said. With Biff and his father, he arose and left the manager’s office.

They walked out into the bright sunlight and across a broad patio, hedged in by flame-colored flowers. The beach of Waikiki was right in front of them. As they walked toward it to find Mrs. Brewster and the twins, the swarthy man with the camera who had been at the airport earlier, stepped from behind a palm tree and watched them go.

CHAPTER VI

The Letter

Hanale Mahenili had driven only a short distance from the Royal Poinciana when Monica, in the rear seat of the convertible, let out a howl.

“Monica! Whatever in the world!” her mother said.

“My lei! My lei! I left it on the beach!” Monica wailed.

“Knew you would,” her brother Ted said, in his I-told-you-so voice.

Mr. Mahenili turned to Tom Brewster and smiled. “That’s easily taken care of. We can get them anywhere along here.”

He pulled the car over to the curb in front of a charming hotel constructed of red and white coral. Just to the left of the entrance to the hotel’s palm-studded grounds, sat an old woman surrounded by flowers of every color and species. The woman was seated in a high-backed chair, made of coconut fronds, with her feet in a tub filled with pink, red, and yellow buds. A flame-red hibiscus was stabbed in her topknot. She was a plump Hawaiian woman, dressed in a flowered muumuu the island adaptation of the mother-hubbard dress introduced many years ago by New England missionaries.

The old woman’s brown, deeply lined face cracked into a smile as the Brewsters got out of the car.

Mr. Mahenili spoke to her in the musical words of the native Hawaiian. The old woman’s deft hands grasped a long, slender lei needle, and her hands seemed to fly as she swiftly threaded at least a hundred flowers into a beautiful garland.

“This lei,” Mr. Mahenili explained, “is being made of the plumeria. You see,” he picked up one of the flowers, “it has five petals. Smell it.”

Mrs. Brewster took the flower. “My, that’s lovely! It seems to me I’ve been smelling this lovely scent ever since we’ve been here.”

“You have. This blossom is highly perfumed. It makes our island the sweetest smelling place in the world.”

The old woman had finished. She arose and draped the newly made lei around Monica’s neck. “For the nani keiki,” she said.

“That means for the ‘beautiful child.’”

Monica blushed, but her smile showed her pleasure.

“Thank you,” she said, dipping her head.

Mr. Mahenili handed the woman some money.

“Mahalo, mahalo,” she said.

“And now she’s saying, ‘Thank you,’ to us,” Hank Mahenili explained.

Half an hour later, following a thrilling ride up the twisting road running over the pali, the cliffs, of the Koolau Mountain range, they dropped swiftly down to sea level again on the north side of the island. A short run along broad, curving beaches, and they arrived at the Mahenilis’ beach-front home on Waimanalo Bay.

The warmth and gracious hospitality of the Mahenili family made the Brewsters feel at home immediately. The Mahenilis’ son, Likake, fifteen, and Biff were old friends within an hour of their meeting. Little Wikolia Mahenili was just Monica and Ted’s age, but quite a bit smaller. She considered the twins her personal property and showed them around with great pride.

There was only one cloud to mar the Brewsters’ sky-high happiness. Dr. Johann Weber was still missing.

Late in the second afternoon of the Brewsters’ stay in Honolulu, Biff and Likake were swimming when Biff saw his father come down to the beach and hail him.

“Let’s go, Li!” Biff called, and the boys rode a breaker back to the shore.

“Hi, Dad. You want me?” Water dripped off Biff’s tanned body. Likake, his round brown face with its usual eager expression, stood beside him.

“I want you to get dressed, now, son. I’d like you to come to the dinner and evening session of our meeting,” Mr. Brewster said.

“You bet, Dad. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. This is the night you speak, isn’t it?”