Pleasing the Dead by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

with police cars, two ambulances, and Damon’s pickup on the front lawn. Storm could see her own shadowy form in the front seat of the truck. Unidentifiable, thank goodness. The story of the murder/suicide continued onto page two, and Storm didn’t read it.
    On her way back to the Property Assessment office, only one police officer hung around outside the restaurant, but the sedan still sat in the parking lot. She could imagine Moana and his colleague picking their way through the rubble with the Federal agents.
    Sally was back from lunch and was happy to look up the land lease records for Lara’s shop. “It’s held by Mālua LLC.”
    â€œDo you have the names of the corporate officers?”
    â€œIchiru and Ryan Tagama are the president and chief operating officer, respectively.” Sally read over the fine print. “They do have another investor in the property,” she said. “Paradise Consortium holds ten percent.”
    â€œI’m helping Lara Farrell set up the corporation. Are there any liens on the land?”
    â€œNot that I can see here. It looks as if it’s owned clean and free.”
    â€œThanks,” Storm said, and began to leave, but turned back. “Say, what was the name of the restaurant that was bombed?”
    Sally didn’t have to look that up. “Blue Marine. Fine dining, known for their seafood. They weren’t normally open for breakfast.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t know who owns it, would you?”
    Sally typed in information on her computer. After a minute or so, she hit the print button, scooped up some papers and said, “Paradise Consortium.”
    â€œWho are the officers and owners?”
    â€œThat’s coming out in the news. Some conglomerate, a combination of local guys—I have their names—and a couple big investors from Japan.”
    Storm was a decent upside-down reader, so she could see the address of the corporate headquarters, here in Kahului. If she had time after her morning appointments, she might drop by. “Who are the local investors?”
    Sally mentioned three names that were unfamiliar to Storm, but the fourth was Ichiru Tagama. Ryan’s dad.
    â€œDoes the company own other businesses?” Storm asked.
    â€œLet me see here.” She tapped away on her keyboard, and her eyes flicked across the screen.
    â€œIt’s public knowledge?”
    â€œSure. But sometimes the companies are owned by other companies and so on. I might have to dig around.”
    â€œShell corporations?” Storm asked.
    â€œDepends if they have any assets or operations. It happens, especially when foreign investors are sheltering taxable money in local investments.” She paused. “Looks like Paradise Consortium owns two hotels, a handful of restaurants and bars, and two or three residential properties.”
    Sally seemed to enjoy gossiping about elusive property owners, so when the thought came to her, Storm decided to ask one more question. She unfolded the newspaper she’d picked up earlier and pointed to the murder/suicide story. “Any chance we could find out who owned this house?”
    â€œWow, I heard about that. Sad, yeah? You know the address?”
    Both women leaned over the paper. The mailbox was visible, and the number 4028 was easy to read, even in the grainy photo.
    â€œI need the street name, too,” Sally said.
    â€œI saw the name—it’s a fish. Kumu? Kamanu?”
    Sally typed, then scanned the computer screen. “Those poor little girls.” She sighed, but stopped mid-inhale. “Oh, that’s interesting.”
    â€œWhat?” Storm asked.
    â€œI went back to the screen with Paradise Consortium’s local holdings.” She hit the print button, then handed a sheet of paper to Storm. “Look, Paradise Consortium holds the title on 4028 Kumu Street.”
    Storm stared at it.
    Sally pointed to the list. “Same group that