CHAPTER ONE

“Invitation on Saffron Street”

By Sherrill Joseph

 

Ouch!” shouted thirteen-year-old Rani Kumar. Seconds before, she was peacefully gazing out at the windswept Pacific Ocean when something caught her eye. Reaching forward, her hands smacked into the spotless glass wall she had forgotten. That was pretty lame of me, she thought as she tried to massage away the pain from her many cracked knuckles. Always a helper, Rani had made a generous though futile attempt to assist someone she felt was in imminent danger in the angry sea below.

“Are you all right, BFF?” asked Lexi Wyatt, also thirteen. She bounded off the plump white leather sofa with its sparkling chrome frame and raced over.

“Forget about me. Look down there!” Rani said, this time pointing with an elbow. “There’s a scuba diver who’s about to get slammed against the rocks. See? The one in the black wetsuit being thrashed by the waves.”

Lanny Wyatt and Moki Kalani, the other two members of the amateur Botanic Hill Detectives Agency, immediately halted their conversation and sprang from nearby chairs. Snuggly indoors, they joined the girls to watch what was occurring in the turbulent tide far below them. Despite the sometimes rough ocean conditions, the four felt lucky to live on beautiful Botanic Hill in the palm-strewn resort town of Las Palmitas, in Southern California.

The surging late November waves were indeed crashing menacingly into the steep cliffs directly below, known to locals as The Bluffs. Aided by the whipping winds that were rocking the many coastal palm trees, foamy plumes of seawater occasionally shot into the air like white, bubbling rockets. Some almost reached the sprawling white house that clung to the cliff and glistened in the sun high above the ocean where the four teens found themselves on Saffron Street’s farthest point west.

The detectives had been invited to hear their next mystery by the homeowner, Mr. Itsuki Yamada. The glass wall that spanned the western side of his contemporary house provided an incredible view of the vast, choppy sea, all the way to the horizon. Far left to the south, the kids noticed swimmers, surfers, and sunbathers who looked like tiny ants enjoying the town’s beautiful Mango Beach. Closer on the left, far below where Quince Street dead-ended, smaller Guava Beach pushed against The Bluffs. It was the beach that divers preferred.

Mr. Yamada was a local legend himself—and not only because of his south-facing home, flooded with light, and its prime location atop one of the town’s most spectacular sea caves that had been carved into The Bluffs over time. As a child, he had witnessed the bombing of Pearl Harbor in Hawai‛i on December 7, 1941. Along with his parents, the young Itsuki Yamada had been imprisoned in internment camps following the bombing. The now elderly man was the only person living in Las Palmitas who could tell the tragic event’s important stories from firsthand experience.

Mr. Yamada sat quietly in the background, enjoying the company and banter of his young guests as they stood at the wall, facing into the afternoon sun. The detectives had lost sight of the diver and talked while they watched and hoped for her to reappear.

Lexi, still scanning the water, said, “Moki, you’re the tallest of all of us and pretty muscular. You could probably battle those ocean swells better than most people.”

Moki flexed both his permanently tanned arms. “Thanks for noticing my pumped muscles. I certainly got a workout surfing in Hawai‛i as a kid, but my parents knew how dangerous the waves could be and wouldn’t let me swim just anywhere I wanted.”

Lanny, the brainiac squad leader, looked his best friend over. “Yeah, bro. I’ve noticed when we’re at the beach even in calm water, I’d need to work out more to keep up with you. I’ll get around to some strength training one of these days.”

Lexi’s green eyes sparkled. “Our Rani is small but mighty from dance and gymnastics. I bet she’s going to beat Moki in an arm-wrestling match any day now.”

“I am going to do that!” Rani’s thick black braid bobbed as she nodded. “But what’s become of that diver? I know there’s a problem.”

At that moment, their conversation abruptly ended. The diver had surfaced, as did some of the kids’ levels of concern and agitation.

“Whoa,” said Lanny as he looked down with his fingertips pressed against the glass. “You’re right, Rani. That diver must be in major trouble. She was under water way too long.”

Lexi started waving her hands, yelling, “Shouldn’t we call the paramedics or someone? What can we do?” She impulsively grabbed Rani’s thin forearm. Squeezing flesh was Lexi’s bad habit when she got too excited. Already sore from hitting the glass so hard, Rani gingerly peeled Lexi’s hands off herself. The two girls were practically inseparable— except whenever Rani could anticipate a squeeze coming. Then, she put some distance between herself and her BFF’s annoying problem.

Moki had been watching the diver closely. He crammed his large hands into his pockets, smirked, and said, “Actually, there’s nothing we need to do.”

Lanny’s blue-violet eyes flashed as he did a double take on Moki. “Huh, dude?”

“Relax, bro,” he said. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s Dawnie Kealoha down there. Dawnie knows how to get out of any mess under any condition in even the wildest ocean.”

Lexi had cupped her hands above her dark brows to shield her narrowed eyes against the mid-afternoon sunlight glinting off the window. She pressed against the glass to follow the diver. “Donny? Who’s he?”

Moki smirked. “Naw, Lexi. Not a he, a she! D-A-W-N-I-E—Dawnie’s a girl! Well, more than a girl. She’s twenty and a champion swimmer and surfer if I ever met one. She’s from Hawai‛i. You watch. She’ll get out of danger wiki-wiki, in no time.”

Lanny fought to keep calm. “Man, you better be right, or we’re losing valuable help time.” The two of them had been best friends since Moki and his dad moved to California five years ago from O‛ahu. Moki’s mother had died in a car accident in Honolulu. It was too difficult for Moki’s dad to travel the same streets and be in the same house without his wife, so they made a fresh start on the Mainland.

Curiosity now got the better of Mr. Yamada. He slowly pushed his thin, stooped eighty-four-year-old body out of his threadbare easy chair and shuffled toward the group. The soft dove-gray carpet muffled his cane taps. Once at the window, he took a good look at the swimmer battling the tide. “Ah, I’ve seen that diver below my house before and wondered who it could be.”

Moki turned to the man. “That’s interesting, Mr. Yamada. What happened that makes you say that? And how many other times have you seen her?”

“I spotted her once, about a week ago. I saw her go under water and disappear for several minutes, which worried me. She was using oxygen tanks like now but, you see, it was also during a high, choppy tide, similar to today’s. I had hoped she merely swam into the big sea cave below my house. I grew certain that was what she had done since much time passed. About ten minutes later, she surfaced and gracefully headed back out into the ocean, past the breakers, bobbing like a seal in its element.”

Lanny faced the man. “That’s right, Mr. Yamada. Your house sits on top of the biggest and most amazing sea cave in Las Palmitas—the Blue Lagoon.”

But the group’s attention was once again riveted on the diver, still battling the churning surf. Two more nerve[1]racking minutes passed. Suddenly, she regained the advantage, arched, and disappeared beneath the waves like a dolphin. Ten minutes later—which were agonizing for the girls and Lanny, despite what Mr. Yamada had reported—the diver emerged some distance far beyond the angry surf and swam effortlessly away with strong, measured strokes, finned feet flapping rhythmically.

“Whew!” Rani said as she carefully wiped her damp forehead with the back of a sore hand. “I’m glad that ended well. I think you were right, Mr. Yamada. She must have gone into the cave again to have disappeared for that much time.”

Moki buffed his fingernails against his shirt, ablaze with yellow hibiscuses, Hawai‛i’s state flower. “I have confidence in Dawnie. In fact, I’ve heard some people call her ‘Dawnie, the Daring Diver.’”

“I hope not too daring,” said Lexi as she continued watching the woman.

Rani replied, “Well, she’s breaking a major rule of divers—Never dive alone.”

“Right, Rani,” said Lanny. “And we can’t assume it was Dawnie.” He always demanded evidence. It was the hallmark of a great detective, but annoying, especially to Lexi.

“I can’t think who else in town could have beaten those currents by The Bluffs so easily,” Moki replied. “I mean, dude! Dawnie grew up on the North Shore of O‛ahu, surfing some of the most treacherous waves in the world. I watched her when I was a little kid, green with envy as she won many major competitions there as a teenager.”

“You grew up on O‛ahu, too, didn’t you, Mr. Yamada?” Rani asked.

“For only four years. I was born there,” he said, “which is related to why I invited you four here today.”

Lanny shook his head, returning to their purpose for being on Saffron Street. “Right. How can we help you, Mr. Yamada? Our mother said you wanted to see us.”

“Ah yes, twins, your mother, Dr. Marlton. She’s such a wonderful friend and customer. She came into my family’s pearl shop on Jacaranda Street the other day to buy a special birthday gift for her sister—your aunt Connie, I believe— and told me all of you were going to Hawai‛i next week.”

“All of us—including Rani and Moki,” Lexi replied with a big grin.

Rani smiled back while Lanny and Moki high-fived.

Lexi continued. “We’re lucky that we often get to go along on our parents’ business trips when Dr. Abbott, their boss at the Antiquities Research Collective in Cortez Park, sends them somewhere on assignment. Bruce, our tutor, goes along so we don’t miss any schoolwork.”

Mr. Yamada nodded. “You are lucky, indeed.”

Lanny continued, “Dr. Abbott’s sending them to O‛ahu to the big Asian-Pacific Islands cultural conference in Honolulu. Dad’s presenting something about archaeology. Mom will speak about the history of Polynesian art.”

“I’m sure they will add much to the conference, and wish I could attend, but I’m not able to travel anymore.”

Lexi sighed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Yamada.” Trying to turn the discussion in a positive direction, she added, “I’ll bet Mom told you she can’t wait to check out the Tahitian black pearls that will be on display there.”

“Yes, we discussed those pearls.” Mr. Yamada’s gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “She certainly has good taste. Tahitian black pearls are among the most exquisite of all pearls. We have a modest but fine collection of them in my family’s pearl shop in town.”

In the next moment, however, Mr. Yamada’s smile faded. He slowly hobbled back to his overstuffed chair, sat down with a groan, and looked at each detective in turn. “You have again reminded me of why I invited you here today. I have a favor to ask you. Please be seated.”

Lanny crossed the living room in a few strides. Then, he took a seat on the sofa, with the others following, and asked, “So, how can we help you specifically, Mr. Yamada?” He leaned forward to give the man his attention.

“Since you’re going to Hawai‛i soon, I’d like you to find something there for me.”

“Of course,” Lanny replied. “We’ll do our best.” The rest of the squad nodded. “What do you want us to find?”

“I have confidence that you four talented detectives can find a cherished Yamada family heirloom that’s missing. It is certainly valuable in cost but priceless in sentiment. In fact, I should have given it to my great-granddaughter Inari recently when she turned eighteen, but I cannot give what I do not have. Even worse, I strongly believe the heirloom was stolen.”

“When was it stolen?” Moki asked.

“About eighty years ago.”

End of Chapter One