CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Cash gestured the dark clouds hovering above Magic Island, a small man-made peninsula bordering Ala Moana Beach Park and the Ala Wai Yacht Club. “Think we’re in for more rain?”
“Yes, but we have the handy-dandy covering above.” I gestured the market umbrella and toasted him with one of the just-arrived Mai-Tais.
We were seated in the Barefoot Bar at a round table before the boardwalk. So were two dozen others, most of them happy [glassy-eyed] tourists. The Saint announced a call.
Cash arched an eyebrow while his expression asked, “Really?”
I winked and greeted Rey, whose number was on display.
“You’ll never guess!”
“Of course I won’t, unless you give me a clue.”
My cousin offered a moderate raspberry. “Our detective pal called—”
“Hives?” I asked drolly.
“Hives
