Big Island Blues by Terry Ambrose

Author:Terry Ambrose [Ambrose, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780985954086
Publisher: Satori
Published: 2014-10-20T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Alexander stormed into the room with all the fury of an angry bull. He tortured a damp towel in his hands while talking between gritted teeth. “Your boyfriend almost cost me fifty bucks. I wanna strangle him!”

“Almost?” Carla’s eyebrows went up.

“The tow truck driver is my Cousin Phil. He’s from Mom’s side of the family. Now I got me another relative I didn’t know about.” Alexander’s anger sounded as though it had turned to self-pity.

“And that’s a bad thing?” I asked. Alexander was related to half of Oahu. What were a few more on other islands? I heard the tow truck still rumbling out front. Why hadn’t he left?

Alexander glared at me. “Him and his family comin’ to Oahu in a couple of months.”

I winced. “Got it. You’ve got a new tour for a nonpaying customer.”

“Snorkel trip. Ten people. You know what that gonna cost me?”

“Seems like it would have been cheaper to pay the tow bill,” I said.

Carla, who sat off to one side, couldn’t hide her smile. “Sorry.” She giggled. “I hate it when relatives visit.”

“Last thing I wanna do is start insulting some new cousins, McKenna.”

I glanced at Carla. Her head bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Right,” I said. “When it comes to ohana, I keep forgetting the rule: money bad, favors good. Glad I’m not in your shoes.”

“It’s not my shoes you gotta worry about.” Alexander was still tormenting the towel with his hands.

I had a sudden, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Ten people, McKenna. I gonna need an extra bedroom.”

“I hate relatives,” I grumbled. “Especially when they’re not mine.”

Carla added, “They can be so needy.”

“They’ve always got expectations.” And I didn’t?

“You don’t got no relatives, McKenna.”

“Yeah? Who’s going to be in my bedroom while I’m on the damn couch?” I’d have to give up my privacy for a weekend, but I wanted to pay for the tow truck even less. “Sure,” I said. “What are friends for?”

Alexander slapped me on the back. “I knew you’d come through for me, brah. Now let’s go, Cousin Phil gonna drive us out to Shaw’s place. He says it kinda tricky finding it after dark.”

“About that,” I said. “Shaw called here. He said Andi ran away and now he wants our help.”

“Cousin Phil already told me. He gonna take us out there.”

The five miles on Mamalahoa Highway was easy. Finding the gate, no sweat. The drive in on the rutted dirt road that twisted as though it had been built by an engineer with a bad case of the runs? Let’s just say whenever the road zigged, we bounced around the cab of Phil’s diesel monster like rag dolls in an oversized shipping crate with no padding. When it zagged, we got thrown the other direction.

Shaw Hardy’s ranch house was, as Phil put it, hard to find. Indeed, Phil seriously understated how hard this place could be to find if you didn’t know your way. It was one of those “turn left when you see the brown dog” scenarios.

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