The sky was such a clear blue it was hard to look at, and the white puffs of clouds drifting down from the slopes out to the ocean sent shadows racing across the landscape. There was only enough wind to stir up the mild perfume from the plumeria planted along the street. Lehua stopped at a newspaper box, dropped in a couple of coins and removed the day’s edition. Her article began at the bottom of page one and picked up again on page six. So far as she could see, Cy hadn’t blue-penciled a thing. Steering carefully around the few pedestrians—mainly tourists going by in pairs—she walked up the three steps to her small apartment house and used her key to let herself into the long hallway leading to the stairs up to her rooms. At the foot of the stairs she stepped back to allow someone coming down to pass by. He didn’t. Instead, reaching a rubber-gloved hand into his pocket, he pulled out a wide-mouth jar, snapped off the lid and threw the contents at her face.
