Dillon shrugged. “Maybe. The marker isn’t new though. See the lichen growing along the edge?”
“But—”
He tugged her to her feet. “I don’t know what’s going on, Noelani, but I sure as hell intend to find out.”
Noelani shot Dillon a furtive sideways glance. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the cemetery. His expression looked grim and more than a little angry, though she was fairly certain the anger wasn’t directed towards her. Not this time.
Tropical vegetation — giant tree ferns, palms, bamboo and an occasional cluster of bright red anthuriums - encroached upon the narrow road and blocked much of the light. The humidity was so high that moisture dripped from the foliage and condensed in tiny droplets on the windshield.
“I don’t recognize this road. Where are we going?” she asked as they splashed through a pothole bigger than the koi pond in her grandmother’s garden.
Dillon’s smile seemed forced. “Back to the plantation. I need time to mull things over though, which is why I opted for the scenic route.”
Jungle route was more like it. Noelani half expected Tarzan to come swooping through the trees. What she didn’t expect was the projectile that smacked the windshield. The glass cracked in a starburst pattern but didn’t shatter.
Dillon hit the brakes.
“What was that?” she asked. “Did you see what hit us?”
“Chunk of loose rock, I think.” He released his shoulder harness and climbed out of the vehicle to assess the damage.
Noelani followed more slowly. He was probably right about it being a rock, but her first thought had been that someone was shooting at them.
“Damn it to hell!” Dillon was swearing as she came around the front end of the vehicle.
“What is it?”
“Another of Pele’s tears.” He extended his hand to show her the obsidian teardrop he’d pulled from the cracked winds
hield.
“How is that possible?”
He shrugged. “I think someone’s trying to tell us something. Your Grandmother maybe.”
“Or Pele.” Noelani shivered.
“Excuse me?”
Noelani, one hand pressed to her racing heart, spun around at the sound of a female voice.
A diminutive old woman in jeans, flip-flops, and a green-and-black University of Hawaii Warriors football jersey stood in the middle of the road, clutching an oversize purple handbag.
“Good heavens, you scared me to death,” Noelani told her. “Where did you come from?”
The old woman set her handbag down with a sigh. “My car broke down, left me stranded back that way.” She waved an arm to indicate the road behind them.
“That’s strange,” Dillon said. “I didn’t see any cars off the road. Did you, Noelani?”
“Not on this highway.” The old woman smiled, revealing a set of crooked teeth. “A secondary road halfway down Mauna Kea. I’m headed for my nephew’s place in Honoka’a. I’d appreciate a lift.”
“Of course,” Noelani said quickly before Dillon could voice an objection. She could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of a hitch-hiker. “As it happens, we’re headed for Honoka’a, too. I’m Noelani Crawford, by the way, and this is Dillon Makua.”
The old woman gripped Noelani’s hand with surprising strength, considering how frail she looked. “I’m Polly Ahiai-honua, but most people call me Auntie Polly.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Auntie Polly.” Noelani accompanied her words with a smile, determined to make up for Dillon’s stand-offish attitude.
“Watch your step,” he said politely enough as he held the door open. He even offered Auntie Polly a hand climbing into the back seat and helped her get her seat belt fastened before handing her the purple bag she’d left sitting in the middle of the road. But he didn’t look happy about the situation, and he left it to Noelani to make conversation with the old woman during the drive to Honoka’a.