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  “Ta-ni-zawa, yes.” The woman dressed in shorts and a colorful T-shirt looked at the two suitcases and overcoat. “Is that everything?”

  “More than enough,” Gina said. She followed the woman to the sedan and put her suitcases in the trunk. Getting in the front seat, she buckled in. “Thank you for picking me up so late in the evening.”

  “No need for you to stay in a room for one night, or to rent a car. Even if you had, you might have a hard time finding the place you’ll be staying. How long have you been away?”

  “Been away? I’ve just come from Cleveland.”

  “Very long trip. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Thanks. I’m excited about being here.” Gina watched out the window as her welcome committee drove through the city. In the last week, she’d looked at hundreds of pictures and watched videos online, trying to get an idea of the city’s vibe. That’s all the time she’d had in preparation since being hired for the job as landscape manager of the estate gardens. The cars, the freeway, the bridges were nothing new, but the lush tropical foliage and tall palms were as foreign to her eye as the names of streets and buildings. “Definitely not in Little Italy anymore.”

  “Little Italy?” the woman asked.

  “The part of Cleveland I’m from.”

  “We don’t have anything like that in Honolulu. We have a nice Chinatown instead, and plenty of Filipino shops everywhere. What part of the Philippines is your family from?”

  “Philippines? We’re Italian.”

  “Oh.” The woman steered off the freeway and found a wide boulevard hidden beneath a giant trees. Broad, sturdy limbs spanned the street, making a tunnel-like canopy over them. “When we saw your picture and your name, we assumed you were Filipino.”

  “Sorry. Just plain, old Italian.” That answered the question of why she’d been hired to quickly. The Tanizawas must’ve assumed Gina was a local girl already familiar with Hawaii, or at least the tropics. She was beginning to wonder how much of a mess she’d made for herself, and would for the garden, by taking the job. She knew the plants and trees would be different from that of anything growing in the Midwest. The only living orchids, tree ferns, and banana plants she’d ever seen had been in hothouses operated by nurseries. “Is that important?”

  “Maybe. The crew you’ll be working with are Filipino, and I think they’re expecting their boss to be the same.”

  “It’s nice that you hire new immigrants,” Gina said, hoping to sound diplomatic. That was a chore after such a long and tiring day in transit. Something else that was a chore was listening to the woman’s accent. She was definitely speaking English, just not in any way Gina had ever heard before. Some words were dropped, while others were stretched out in peculiar ways.

  “Oh, not so new. Just no need to speak much English.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting them. Are you Filipino?”

  The woman seemed to share a laugh only with herself. “I’m sansei Japanese.”

  “I see.” Gina was as lost in their conversation as much as she was lost on the city streets. “What’s sansei?”

  “Third generation. My grandparents were the original immigrants to come from Japan to settle in Hawaii.”

  “I guess that makes me fourth generation Italian. Which will get you a half-priced cup of coffee in any Little Italy diner, as long as you buy a meal to go with it.” Gina watched as they turned onto a short road between two modern buildings. It was a little too dark to see much else, except that there were no residential houses that she could see. They went over a narrow bridge hidden by trees that spanned a gully. Gina could hear water tumbling over rocks in the darkness. All she could tell was that they were headed into a forest of some sort. “Where are we going?”

  “That was the main entrance to the estate. Your house is on the far side of the gardens toward the back.”

  Following a gravel driveway, they went through a forest overgrown with vines rather than a botanical garden until they got out in the open. “No, I definitely wouldn’t have found this place.”

  When the woman parked, she left the headlights on aimed at a small structure. All Gina saw in the beams of light was something better described as a shack than a house.

  “It’s better on the inside than what the outside looks, Miss Santoro,” the woman said as they walked toward the shanty. She dragged one suitcase across the flagstone walkway while Gina managed the other. “The whole place is being rebuilt one project at a time. The first project is to get a proper roof on the house. Maybe you heard of the storm we had a while back? That took off much of the roof. The boys have fixed it as best they can for the time being.”

  Gina knew she had to be complimentary, even though the place needed a match more than it needed a roof. “It’s very interesting. I’ve never seen a place like this before.”

  “While it was vacant, it was lived in by squatters from time to time. The last of them finally left when the storm hit, and we decided to rebuild the house.”

  Gina followed her escort to the front porch that spanned the front of the house. “I’m sure it’ll be nice when it’s done.”

  “Watch your step coming up onto the porch. A couple of the boards are tricky and need to be replaced.”

  Every time Gina stepped, she found a tricky board from the squeaks they made. Palm fronds acted as an awning for the porch roof, and a few were falling loose. The railing and uprights that held the porch together were heavy timber bamboo, and everything was fixed together with rope. The exterior of the house was painted a dark green color, where there even was paint. It looked like some of it had been replaced and the entire house needed paint. Every wall had louvered windows, which were smudged and grimy.

  “Not in Cleveland anymore,” Gina muttered.

  When the woman went in the front door, it hadn’t been locked, or even closed. Only a screen door was keeping the mosquitoes out. The woman hit a light switch to brighten the front room. The first thing Gina noticed was the swirling smoke from mosquito coils. Right after that, she noticed the exterior had been a good advertisement for the inside of the house. Or a warning, she wasn’t sure which.

  “Take your shoes off and leave them on the porch.”

  Gina wiped her shoes on the rustic old doormat. “My shoes should be clean.”

  A blank look crossed the woman’s face. “We don’t wear outdoor shoes inside the house in Hawaii. Anywhere. Ever.”

  Gina did as she was told and took off her shoes. She’d forgotten about the hole in a toe of the heavy wool socks she’d put on that morning. She looked sheepishly at the woman who had obviously noticed her big toe protruding. “Sorry. I’m a little behind with my sewing.”

  “No matter. I doubt you’ll need wool socks here, or that overcoat.”

  “Probably not.”

  None of the walls in the house had wallboard, showing the interior of the walls. She could see where fresh wood studs had replaced older ones, and the wiring, switches, outlets, and pipes all looked new. The bare wood floor creaked under her feet as she walked. Other than one bedroom, there was no furniture, and only an old light fixture hung from each ceiling.

  “It looks there’ve already been some repairs to the place,” Gina said, her feelings of diplomacy starting to weaken.

  “Most of the electrical and plumbing has been replaced, and new support framing everywhere. We still need to put up paneling and do something with the floor. A few of the windows are stuck, but we’re hoping that with the new roof, those will get better.”

  “It sounds like you know the house pretty well?”

  “This was my grandparents’ home. They bought the land and built a place of their own as soon as they had the money. Over the years, rooms were added on as they got more prosperous.” The woman took a deep breath as she looked around the room they were in. “I spent a lot of my childhood in this old house. And yes, I do realize the place is a dump, but the family hates to let it go. We’re even hoping to get
it registered as a historical building. But for the time being, it’s yours to live in.”

  That shed new light on the place, and on her escort. “You’re one of the Tanizawas?”

  Finally, the woman smiled. “Yes. Everybody around here still knows me as Millie Tanizawa, even though I took my husband’s name when we married. It’s easiest for everybody if you call me Millie.”

  “I feel honored you’re letting me live in your family home, especially having never met me before.”

  “Never mind,” Millie said with a wave of her hand. “We have a credit card for your use, and there’s an open account at the hardware store for anything you might need. The bed has fresh linen on it and the bathroom is clean. The kitchen is a little rustic, but everything works if you say the right prayer. We weren’t sure of what you liked to eat, but we’ve stocked a few things for you. Is there anything else that you need tonight?”

  “I don’t think so. That bed sounds good, though.”

  “Tomorrow is Friday, Christmas, and no one will be around. You’ll have the estate to yourself. I suggest getting to know the gardens and learn about the bus system before Monday. Everything you might need is a short bus ride away. My suggestion is to make a list of what needs to be done before taking on too many tasks.” The woman smiled when she put her hand out to shake Gina’s. “Good luck, Miss Santoro.”

  Chapter Three

  When Gina woke in the morning, it was to the sound of her phone ringing with a call from her sister. She knew it was a Christmas call from the entire family, something she wasn’t prepared to face up to. She also knew that if she ignored the call, the phone would continue to ring until she answered, all morning if it took that long.

  “Merry Christmas. Did Mom and Dad survive Christmas morning without their Number Two daughter being there?”

  “They’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Dad and I had quiet shifts. Mom has gifts under the tree for you. The call’s on speaker and they’re right here, by the way.”

  “Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Merry Christmas!” Gina shouted into her phone so they could hear her. “Did you open the things I left for you?”

  “Thank you for the cuff links, Gina,” her father said.

  “How many pairs is that now?”

  “Eighteen. You haven’t missed a year since you were ten years old.”

  “Hopefully Mamma got you a shirt to go with them. Mamma, did you open your gift?”

  “I don’t need any more cookware, Gigi.”

  “I know. I bet you can put it to good use, though. How did the porchetta abruzzese turn out?”

  “Too much for just the three of us.”

  Ouch. “Well, you have enough for leftovers. Okay if I talk to Ana alone for a minute?”

  “Dad’s in the den and Mom’s already in the kitchen. Might still be a little miffed. How were the flights?”

  “Long. I never knew the Pacific Ocean was so big.”

  “Like, duh. It’s on the map,” Ana said.

  “Shut up. I have cellular but no data. I guess they don’t have Wi-Fi in the forest.”

  “Forest?” Ana asked.

  “You should see this place. The house is in the middle of a forest. Palms trees everywhere around here.”

  “Ooh, your own little Santoro Witch Project.”

  “Don’t say that. I heard things walking around outside during the night.”

  “Probably just Hawaiian zombies looking for a new flavor of blood to suck. Nothing to worry about. How’s the house? Pretty nice?” Ana asked.

  “More like rustic. It has this weird thatched roof made from palm fronds and there are no walls on the inside.”

  Ana laughed. “You wanted something different. I guess you got it. Eat breakfast yet?”

  “Not yet. All I’ve seen is the bedroom and the front porch.”

  “How’s the bathroom?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been holding it since last night. If it’s anything like the roof, I might find a tree outside.”

  “Can’t be that bad, can it?” Ana asked.

  “I shouldn’t make fun. It’s free and it’s being remodeled by professionals. Apparently, they have some sort of long-range plan for the estate that includes the house. Not very big, though. It’s about the same size at the Russo’s place.”

  “Which Russo? Johnny or Frankie?”

  “Frankie.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s small. How about I send Joey to work on it?”

  “Funny. Apparently, this place is getting its first upgrade since the Tanizawas came here from Japan. What’s now forest in a giant ravine used to be a big vegetable patch. That’s a part of what they want to get going again, along with display gardens of native plants and trees.”

  “That’s a big job,” Ana said. “How do you get started with something like that?”

  “I have no idea. It was so dark when we got here last night that I couldn’t much.”

  “Well, big sister, you wanted to make a change. Good luck with it.”

  “That’s what Millie said last night, right before she left me alone in the woods.” Gina couldn’t put off starting her day any longer, or her first trip to the bathroom. “Hey, be nice to Mom for me, okay? Keep telling her how much I miss her.”

  “Tell her yourself. And you’d better make it a long, sappy letter and not just a greeting card.”

  “The longest thing I’ve ever written to Mom was in a birthday card.”

  “You’ll think of something. Right now, you have your adventure to get started!”

  All Gina had unpacked the night before were her flannel pajamas, which she wore to the bathroom. Even though the house had three bedrooms, there was only one bathroom.

  “With three bedrooms and only one pot for everybody, they would’ve had contentious mornings,” she mumbled as she sat. “Someone left me a roll of TP anyway.”

  She’d brought the in-flight airline magazine with her and studied the advertisements for showy clothes and flashy jewelry available at a mall somewhere in Honolulu. Setting that aside, she checked the fixtures a little more closely. Faucets and tap handles were stainless steel, with rust on some of the edges, and the porcelain had seen shinier days. Still, everything was clean, the water came on, and the mirror wasn’t broken.

  The acid test came when she flushed the toilet. It wasn’t so much of a flush as it was a gentle trickle of water. Trying a second time only seemed to fill the pot. When she lifted the tank lid off, she didn’t know what she expected to see inside. Not only did she know nothing about plumbing, but even her father had to call a plumber whenever a faucet dripped. Santoros knew more about handcuffs, night sticks, and pistols than they ever could about pipes, electric wires, or roofing material. What she found were grimy pipes and fittings, and a ball on a stick. Deciding it was best left alone until after she’d had her morning coffee, she fit the lid back in place.

  Even though she’d left the light off and the room was dim, she knew she saw something move on the floor. Flicking on the light, she looked more closely at the space behind the toilet. What she saw gave her a shudder.

  “Ugh. Were you there the whole time?”

  When the cockroach began to scurry away, Gina got the magazine, rolled it into a bat, and took a swing at the little black creature. That only seemed to piss it off, as it scurried ever faster.

  Gina saw what it was headed for, a gap between the baseboard and the floor. Taking another swing, she stunned it. Seeing its legs continue to move, she gave it a few more whacks until it burst. Cringing, she used a wad of toilet paper to pick it up.

  “What’s with the yellow stuff inside of you guys, anyway?” she said, dropping the tissue in the pot. She tried flushing again, but that made the water level rise even more. Watching to make sure it didn’t overflow onto the dull linoleum floor, she left the scene behind. “Okay, that goes on the list. Bad news in the bathroom.”

  The condition of the kitchen wasn’t much better than the bathroom, but at least everything worked. Wate
r flowed from the tap and drained from the sink. The refrigerator and stove were the same type that her father had replaced in their home when she was a kid. Three out of four of the burners got warm, and the fridge was cold inside. She ignored the groaning noise when the cooling element kicked in.

  Just like Millie had promised, there were the basics of food in the fridge: a glass bottle of milk, a cube of butter in a saucer, a bowl of brown eggs, jars of mustard and mayonnaise, and a block of cheese. She read the labels on several unopened jars of condiments. Most were jams of tropical fruit. The last one was nearly black, and was labeled as though it was homemade.

  “Pomegranate?” She took the lid off, gave it a sniff, and put it away again. “Whatever.”

  The last thing she found was a plastic tub with Japanese writing on it. The contents sloshed around inside. Looking closely, she found the English spelling of the contents.

  “Tofu?” She put that away next to the pomegranate jam. “Not in Little Italy anymore.”

  Continuing her tour, Gina found a bowl of fruit, with an orange, two lemons, and some other things that smelled sweet but she only seen in the market back home.

  She knew that if there was jam and butter, there must’ve been bread. Going through a small pantry, she found a loaf of bread and some canned vegetables. None of the brands were familiar, no national brands at all, but had unusual Japanese, Hawaiian, or Filipino brand names. Taking the loaf of bread to the counter, she dropped two slices into a toaster that looked like it was World War II surplus. When she saw the elements inside begin to glow, she was satisfied.

  While she waited for the toast, she poked through the fridge again.

  “Milk, eggs, butter, and cheese. That means omelet.”

  It took another search through the kitchen cabinets to find the bowls and utensils she needed to make her breakfast. Picking up an egg ready to crack it open into a bowl, she raised it slightly but hesitated.

  Put the egg back down again.

  “Not this again.”

  While the scent of singeing bread rose from the toaster, she stared at the egg on the counter.

  “Can’t make an omelet if I can’t crack that thing open.”