Ethan was too worked up over our recent attack to make good on his promise to love me into oblivion. Instead, I showered and changed into a sundress, ready to take on a table full of suspects, I hoped. Most people couldn’t turn down a full made-to-order breakfast, and most mornings were no exception. When we entered the dining room, I glanced around before sitting at the table with the rest of my family. True to his word, Joe’s service revolver was in its holster around his shoulder. I wondered whether it was legal for him to carry it like that while not on duty, but wasn’t about to ask. The Wahines sat around one, the rest of the guests scattered among the other tables, not that there were many of us left. Maybe that accounted for the frown on our robust host’s face. David Hatcher fit the body build of last night’s beach wanderer, so did Leroy Wahine and the gardener, Manuel Mokiao. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean our attacker was a man. I was sure most Hawaiian women could blow a dart, or was that stereo typing?
