Pono was driving his beefed-up purple truck, and Lei reached up to tap the tiny replica Hawaiian war helmet that hung from the rearview mirror. “For courage,” she said. “We’re going to need it,” Pono agreed, gathering his handheld recorder and a notepad. Lei opened her door. The truck was jacked up on big tires, so she used a chrome step to hop to the ground. She straightened her clothes and shrugged into the light khaki jacket she wore to conceal the shoulder holster. She liked to use her smartphone for recording, and as she slipped it out of her jacket pocket, she saw that Stevens had called and left a voice mail. Lei listened to the message as they walked up wide, gracious steps to a carved wooden Balinese-style front door. She grimaced at the news that Stevens’s mother was on-island. She’d never met the woman, but what he’d told her hadn’t impressed her. “They don’t seem to be hurting for money,”
