Then, suddenly, the deep, foghorn sound of the conch shells being blown encouraged increasingly loud answering roars from the gathered crowd.
“They’ve just taken the pig from the imu,” Lani said, pointing toward the subterranean oven, where Donovan could practically feel his arteries clogging from the aroma alone. “The first recorded Hawaiian Christmas was in 1786, when the merchant ship, the Queen Charlotte, docked on Kauai. The captain and his crew celebrated with a big dinner, including a whole roasted pig, which started a new tradition that spread through the islands.”
She linked her fingers with Donovan’s, leading him from the shadows into the circle of light created by the flaming torches where he found himself seated between at the head table between Lani and Thomas, facing an extraordinary array of exotic dishes.
“I like this,” Donovan said after taking a taste of the opihi, a salty black mollusk that reminded him of a small clam.
“Try this lomi lomi salmon,” Lani suggested, holding out a piece of the pink-fleshed fish.
“You’ve just caught my interest, sweetheart,” he said, thinking of her massages. Not only were they helping his bum ankle, since the first one, he hadn’t suffered any more nightmares of his partner’s brains and blood looking like a Jackson Pollack painting splattered on the wall.
“In this case, the salmon’s massaged with a marinade of chopped onions and tomatoes before cooking.”
Donovan’s lips closed around her fingers. “Good,” he decided. “But I think I prefer Lomi Lomi Lani.”
Her eyes darkened with memories of the lovemaking that had inevitably followed the massages. “You haven’t tried the poi,” she murmured.
“I’ll try it later,” he said, toying with the natural pearl adorning her earlobe.
“You haven’t experienced a real luau without tasting poi,” she insisted.
Without taking his eyes from hers, Donovan dipped two fingers into the wooden bowl of purplish-brown starch made from pounded taro root. It tasted like library paste.
“Terrific,” he said. “Can we go home now?”
Thomas, who had been arguing with Margaret over whether the chicken luau was better with taro or spinach leaves, overheard Donovan’s request.
“Oh, you can’t leave yet,” he insisted. “The dancing’s just beginning.”
Donovan sighed as he ran his knuckles down the side of Lani’s face, trailing his fingers along her firm, uplifted jaw. “Later.”
“Later,” she agreed, sensuality swirling in those sea-green eyes.
“The hula began as a religious dance,” Lani remarked, reverting to her best tour-guide fashion. “It reflected the deep cosmic piety of the people, their love and awe of the tremendous forces of nature that surrounded them.”
The percussive rhythms that accompanied the dancers came from wooden sticks struck together, producing sounds like those of a xylophone. Other musicians clicked together small stones like castanets, or shook seed-filled gourds to the pulsating beat, reminding Donovan of Latin-American maracas.
“You’re supposed to watch their hands,” Lani explained. “They tell the story.”
A lissome young thing whose undulating hips were tracing a perfect figure eight momentarily captured Donovan’s attention. “You watch the hula your way and I’ll watch it mine,” he suggested with a wicked grin.
Lani laughed. “It’s just a good thing I’m not a jealous woman, Donovan Quinn, or you’d end up with this bowl over your head and poi dripping off your chin.”
Before he could assure her that she had no reason to be jealous, that she was the only woman he wanted, she was called away for her dance.
“The story Lani will be telling will be a more modern one than the other legends,” Thomas told Donovan as Kalena left with Lani to help her change. “Of the mutineers arriving on the beach and being welcomed by the local population. It’s a grand tale and Lani interprets it in her own special fashion.”
* * *
“I know you’re going to tell me it’s too soon. But I’m so in love with Donovan, Mama,” Lani admitted to her mother as she changed into her costume in her old room in the house.
“Hearts have their own time, just as islands do,” Kalena said. “And I’m so very happy for you. What did Donovan say when you told him?”
“Oh, I haven’t yet. He’s been so occupied with Ford’s disappearance, I didn’t feel the time was right.”
“From what I’ve noticed, while I’m sure he’s working hard on the case, he’s far more occupied with you.”
“It’s just physical.” Lani cringed. “Which, I’m sorry, is TMI when talking to my mother.”