CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Perfect timing,” my cousin murmured as we entered a small coffee shop near the intersections of Kalakaua and Ala Moana. At 10:30 it was still busy. Guess no one had worries about ingesting caffeine so late in the evening.
Ald Ives was seated at a corner table, dressed in designer jeans and a black long-sleeve hooded T-shirt, sipping a beverage while reading what appeared to be—given the horses, hats, and badges—a western. He glanced up, his expression neutral, and waited for us to sit.
“So, you did some B&E,” he said with a salty smile, placing the book beside a huge half-empty mug. “I’m no longer surprised. And, oddly enough, not angry or even annoyed.”
“… We checked out Caprize’s place,” I responded. “And found some items of note.”
He motioned the waitperson, wh
